


In His Care

by lobotomycastiel



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub, Fluff, Light Angst, Lingerie, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Non-explicit D/s, Past Abuse, Sub Steve Rogers, minor OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobotomycastiel/pseuds/lobotomycastiel
Summary: Tony is busy, he doesn't have time for a submissive. Now if only someone had informed Steve of that...
Relationships: Past Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, background Carol Danvers/James "Rhodey" Rhodes
Comments: 73
Kudos: 244





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avengersasssemble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avengersasssemble/gifts).



> So uh. I have no excuses. This was directly inspired by the amazing [avengersasssemble](https://avengersasssemble.tumblr.com)'s Dom/sub anons. This is gonna be a long one. 
> 
> Hoping to update every Thursday until it's done! 
> 
> A note about this universe: subs and Dom aren't paired up through any particular matching service, however, there's a government agency called Submissive and Dominant Affairs (SADA) that's referenced frequently throughout the fic. It has a reputation for being a bit shoddy and not paying well, but Steve works there because it's one of the few jobs subs can get outside of lower-paying office jobs.

The elevator dings as Tony walks into his penthouse. His head is pounding and he needs a drink _right the fuck now_. 

“Jarv, please tell me that was the last series of meetings for the week?” He gazes up at his ceiling pleadingly. Whether he’s wishing for death or just a break, he can’t tell. He flings open one of the refrigerator doors and blindly grasps around for the nearest bottle of liquor and mixer. _Whiskey and… lemonade? Sure. Whatever. It’s been that kind of day._

“I regret to inform you that you have your quarterly fiscal review tomorrow at 9:30 AM,” intones JARVIS in his usual slightly-sarcastic British cadence. “In addition, you appear to have neglected your visitor.” 

“Visitor…” Tony downs his makeshift cocktail, turns around to get a look at the living room, and holy shit, there’s someone on his couch. A very naked someone on his couch, wearing a flimsy red collar and a pair of grey briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. How the fuck did he miss that? 

“Hi,” the stranger says sheepishly, face and chest going red. “I’m from Submissive and Dominant Affairs? Natasha ordered me for you?”

Uh huh. And he’s the Archbishop of Canterbury. Probably another one of Justin Hammer’s spies, but hey, he’s getting more creative. Points for style. 

“Well, that’s not the _worst_ cover story for corporate espionage I’ve ever heard. Get the hell out of my house, I have guns and I know how to use them.” He’s had too long of a day to be dealing with HammerTech pettiness. He reaches into the kitchen drawer next to the one where he keeps his reusable straws, and pulls out his miniature pistol, clicking the safety off. 

The stranger panics, and rushes to say “No, wait, I really am from the agency, here let me—“ and the man scrambles for his phone, rifling through his bag. Tony sighs, puts the safety back on, and puts his pistol back. This might as well happen. Goddamn Natasha, always trying to set him up. At least it’s not a socialite this time. 

Tony walks over to the living room and is presented with the other man’s phone, showing a very official email from an @SADA.gov email address informing the nice man — Steven G. Rogers — that he’s been assigned to a Dominant for the next month, so that checks out. 

Well. It looks like he’s stuck with a sub for the next four weeks. 

“Look, Steven, right? I don’t know what Natasha told you, but I don’t have the time for, or need, a sub right now. I’m busy, it’s the end of the fiscal year _and_ we’re gearing up for conference season, I can’t take care of my own needs, let alone someone else’s.” 

Steven looks at him incredulously. “But… but you requested me! Who else could it have been? I know it was you! We get transcripts of requests, too, they send us that!” He pulls up another email to show Tony, and wow, Jesus fuck, he knew his public image was bad, but _really?_

“Young, blonde, and stupid? Waist-to-hip ratio of a corn chip with tits to match? _Pain whore with daddy issues and pornstar lips?_ Is this what switches think we sound like?” 

Tony won’t lie to himself and say he always had the most progressive views on subs. And he especially won’t try and say that his actions have spoken louder than his words. He spent a decade building up a reputation as the epitome of a sleazy coked-up Dom, and inspired more than one NYT bestselling tell-all novel about his bacchanalian weekends. 

He’s not proud of it, but he’d like to think that at _some point_ in the past ten years, staying out of the public eye, multiple stints in rehab, and keeping his desires to himself have earned him a modicum of goodwill. Apparently not. 

“Well… yeah. I mean, not all Doms or whatever, but like. You’re _Tony Stark_. I read Christine Everhart’s memoir about you in my Submissives in Modern Literature class back in college.” 

Of course he read the one that implied he was keeping a fucking harem, like this is the 16th century and he’s a king surrounded by consorts. 

“Hey, I also read that one. You know how people send a breakup text? She sent me an advanced copy of her 50,000 word breakup text. _And_ the hardcover version.” 

Steven wrinkles his nose at that. Tony doesn’t blame him, nobody wants to deal with his relationship drama, least of all himself. “Look, I get paid either way, so are you gonna fuck me or not? I’m stuck with you for the month, anyways.” The _mouth_ on this one, this’ll be an interesting month, if nothing else. 

“No, I’m not gonna fuck you.” Before the other man can squawk indignantly, Tony follows it up with “It’s not because you’re not attractive, because you are, but I’ve learned from experience to keep it in my pants. Speaking of pants, give me a few minutes to find some for you. The AC kicks on automatically at night and I can’t have you catching a cold.” 

He leaves the other man on the couch and heads to his bedroom. He can get more clothes in the morning, but for tonight a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie should do the trick. 

* * *

Steve is fucking _livid_. 

First, he gets assigned to Tony Stark, the worst Dominant on the planet, according to everyone ever. The Dom who keeps a revolving door for his massive harem of submissives and makes them compete for his attention and affection, and if they don’t amuse him, kicks them out onto the street with nothing to their name. 

Then, he requests a transcript of the assignment details, and he has to read the _disgusting_ and _degrading_ things the man had his assistant write about his preferred submissive. He spent an entire day resigning himself to going through with this horrible contract for the money. 

And finally, the icing on the cake is that Tony Stark doesn’t even think he’s good enough to fuck! He _said_ it’s not because of his looks, but Doms lie all the time. He’s gonna be stuck in this rat bastard’s house for a month and have to see what the other subs he brings in go through, and know that he can’t do anything to prevent it. 

Maybe that’s his angle. Maybe that’s what gets a Dom like Tony Stark off; playing cruel mind games with everyone around him. Steve represses a shudder at the thought. The other man’s probably not even gonna come back down, or if he is, he’s coming back down with a chastity belt or nipple clamps or… 

“Hey, I tried digging around for anything larger, but I think Rhodey stole all of those back, so I’ve got medium sweatpants and a large sweatshirt. Sorry about that, we’ll go shopping in the morning.” 

...pants. He came down with pants and a shirt, like he said he would. Both pieces of clothing have large MIT logos on them. Okay, so they’re in the ‘establish a false sense of security’ stage of things. 

Steve reluctantly thanks him, because his mother raised him right, and slips on the clothes. They’re soft, obviously well-worn, and a little tight, but not uncomfortable. While he was getting dressed, his Dom was in the kitchen heating something up. 

Steve follows the smell of warm cinnamon and vanilla and sees Tony Fucking Stark making hot chocolate. With real chocolate, of course, because he’s Tony Fucking Stark. 

He watches, semi-awkwardly, as the other man chops up a bar of dark chocolate and lets it melt into the spiced milk before adding a dash of cayenne pepper. He turns the heat off and turns around to put his spoon in the sink, sees Steve, and jumps out of his skin. 

“Jesus _fuck,_ first thing we’re doing after clothes shopping is getting you a better collar, one with a _bell on it_ ,” the Dom says tersely, narrowing his eyes at Steve even as he pours out two mugs of hot cocoa and leads the two of them into the living room again. 

Tony sets down their mugs on top of the glass coffee table, opens up one of the ottomans, and pulls out a _massive_ plush blanket. He glances up at the ceiling and says “J, gimme the home movie studio configuration,” and the wall across from the couch splits to reveal an enormous TV screen. 

“Well, what do you wanna watch?” Tony asks, lying down on the couch directing Steve to lie down with him, nestled close to his chest. 

Like this, Steve can hear the other man’s heartbeat. It’s racing, like… like _Tony’s_ the nervous one here. What a joke. Steve reaches for his hot cocoa and takes a sip (it’s _fantastic_ , he’s going to have to ask for the recipe), before deciding. 

“Legally Blonde?” It’s the only movie he can remember right now. He feels unbelievably cared-for, and it’s making him feel all pleasant-fuzzy and tingly. 

Tony smirks at him, the _asshole_ , and says to his magic ceiling, “JARVIS, you heard the man. Legally Blonde.” 

Then, infuriatingly, Tony sets a hand on the back of Steve’s neck and squeezes gently. “You’re tense,” he whispers.

It’s those two words that cause Steve to relax into Tony’s hold. He presses close against the other man’s chest and lets Tony wrap his arms around his torso. That’s when he feels the heady sensation of subspace creep up on him. 

Everything suddenly feels nice. He’s warm, safe, being held by a Dom who clearly knows what he’s doing. Everything’s fine. He doesn’t need to think about Brock, or Bucky, or the leak in his apartment’s roof, or anything. The only thing he has to do is be good, be relaxed and calm, like how Tony wants him. 

As Elle Woods picks out her dress for dinner and rips the sales attendant to shreds, Steve closes his eyes and drifts off in Tony’s arms. 

* * *

Tony’s barely paying attention to the movie. He’s been keeping an eye on Steven the whole time, and sometime in between the leading girl being mean to a store clerk and the leading girl crying in a restaurant, he ended up with an armful of completely-under submissive. That’s no good, because he _doesn’t do that anymore_. 

“Steven? Steve? You with me, honey?” He shifts into the voice he used to use with his one-night stands, soft and gentle. He brushes a few errant hairs out of Steve’s face. Which makes him stir a little bit. 

“Sir?” Steve says, looking up at him with blown-out eyes. _Oh this is VERY not-good._

“Just call me Tony, sweetheart,” Tony says, trying to stay calm. How the hell did Steve go down so fast? They didn’t even _do_ anything! He needs to bring Steve up quickly, before he ends up giving into his own urges to hurt, to mark up and claim Steve as his. For fuck’s sake, Steve’s from an agency, he’s _mail-order,_ he especially can’t act like this around Steve when he’s here on a _job_. 

“Sir, please,” Steve whimpers, and bucks his hips up, shifting the blanket, and oh. He’s very hard. Tony runs his hands up and down Steve’s sides, soothingly. 

“That for me, baby? You’re so sweet. You’re such a sweet sub for me.” Steve keens under the praise, hips canting in search of friction. Tony has no intention of letting the evening escalate that far, though. 

“We’re not gonna have sex tonight, honey.” Steve whines, clearly put-out. “I know, I know, but _I’m_ not feeling up for it right now. It’s not your fault, you’ve been nothing but perfect. Such a good boy.” 

Steve gives a full-bodied shudder at being called a good boy. That particular turn of phrase has never come naturally to Tony, but Steve’s reaction makes any residual awkwardness evaporate. 

Tony helps Steve to his feet and starts to lead Steve into a guest bedroom, but thinks better of it. He doesn’t want Steve to wake up alone in the morning, that would just be proving everyone right; that he doesn’t know how to care for a sub. So he swallows down his nerves and takes Steve to his own suite, where he lays him down onto the mattress and covers him with the comforter. Then, he grabs a second blanket from his linen closet for himself, just to reduce the temptation to _take care_ of Steve even further. 

He stays awake for another thirty minutes to make sure that Steve’s actually asleep before allowing himself the same luxury.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve explores Tony's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... SO sorry that I didn't update yesterday like I said I would. College is currently swamping me in assignments. This week seemed to be the worst of it, though, so I should be able to get the next one up on Thursday like I said I would!

When Tony wakes up to the feeling of a warm body next to him, he nearly screams for JARVIS to activate the security protocols. Then the events of the evening start coming back to him, and he settles for calling Natasha and yelling at her instead. 

“I take it you had fun with your present?” She asks in lieu of a greeting. 

“Steve’s a  _ person _ , not a present, Romanov. And if by ‘fun’ you mean ‘watched some god-awful chick flick before falling asleep at midnight,’ then yeah, last night was a real riot.” Tony runs his fingers through Steve’s hair absentmindedly, enjoying the way Steve sighs languidly in his sleep. 

“Stark, come on! You  _ know _ you’ve been working too hard, you need to relax. Just give him a chance. He’s even your exact type!” 

Tony rolls his eyes at her words. “Since when is my type ‘blonde idiot’? I prefer my blondes smart. At least a Bachelor’s degree, preferably a Master’s or a Doctorate.”

Down the line, he hears Clint crow “Does that mean you’ll be my sugar daddy?” and Natasha telling him to shut up.

“He has one of those, BA in Art History. You can swap college stories or something.”

“Nat…” Tony looks over at the clock on the bedside table. 8:30 AM, he has an hour before he has to get to his quarterly fiscal review. He really doesn’t want to leave Steve alone, and not just because it’s bad manners to leave a sub alone after they go down. Steve’s being especially sweet this morning, all cuddles and smiles, which is orders of magnitude more fulfilling than listening to Gerald from Finance tell him their numbers for the quarter in a meeting that should have been an email. 

Before she hangs up, Natasha tells him, “Enjoy your month with Steve. You deserve it.” Her voice goes soft at the end, like she actually wants him to be happy and this wasn’t her version of a practical joke. 

Tony agonizes over whether or not to leave for another half hour before his fear of Pepper’s wrath outweighs his pride in his abilities as a Dom. He showers quickly, and tugs on his button-up and slacks before tossing on a blazer that he’s certain is a different shade of black than his pants, but he can’t spend anymore time in bed if he wants to get to the meeting on time. 

He casts one last glance at Steve, who’s still fast asleep, huddled underneath the largest, warmest blanket Tony could find. He looks… smaller like that. Safe, protected, and a few other adjectives that make Tony’s hindbrain inordinately pleased. 

A final glance at the clock -- 9:27, he’s gonna be a few minutes late, but it’s not his worst timing, so Pepper doesn’t have any right to complain. The only thought sustaining him throughout the day is that after tonight, he’ll be able to spend the weekend with Steve. Completely uninterrupted. 

* * *

When Steve wakes up for the first time the next morning, he feels refreshed in a way that he hasn’t for years. His brain is still fuzzy around the edges, unable to make any truly coherent thought beyond  _ warm  _ and  _ happy _ . Tony’s awake, but he’s talking on the phone with someone, so he lets himself close his eyes again and luxuriate in the feeling of residual subspace. 

The next time he wakes up, he wishes he’d just forced himself awake the first time. The room is cold, he’s alone, with no sign of Tony anywhere, and the light from outside the windows tells him that it’s late-morning, so Tony’s at work and he’s going to be alone for the entire day. 

His rational brain is telling him that it’s ridiculous that he’s feeling abandoned, but he can’t help the sting he feels.  _ Just like Brock _ , he thinks to himself bitterly. Which is immediately followed up by  _ no, not ‘just like Brock,’ Brock would have tied you up before leaving _ .

He’s hungry, so he goes to the elevator and asks Tony’s magic ceiling to take him to the kitchen. While he’s scouring the cabinets for cereal, he finds a partially-disassembled toaster with a sticky note that says “ELECTROLYSIS CHAMBER -- IN PROGRESS -- DO NOT TOUCH” on it. 

The fridge isn’t much better; Tony has milk, but he also has a 6-pack of yogurts that advertise themselves as being “for Doms,” boasting about extra protein and a tamper-proof seal. The yogurt has a note that says “For Rhodey” on it. He doesn’t know who Rhodey is, but he doesn’t have a very good impression of them. 

After he eats, he’s feeling a little better, so he goes back to the bedroom and starts snooping. He opens every drawer, looking for any hint of sadistic tendencies or a secret harem of subs hidden away. All he finds are more abandoned tech projects and an impressive tie and sock collection, so he starts looking in other places. 

The other bedrooms yield nothing, they’re completely empty except for one, which has a full set of clothes, including an Air Force uniform, in it. This must be for Tony’s ‘Rhodey,’ then, since subs can’t join the military. Not that that stopped him… for five years at least, until they found out and gave him a dishonorable discharge. 

The lower floor also yields nothing; no hidden passageways emerge when he pulls on each book in the bookshelves lining the TV stand, and no secret switch is in any of the bathroom’s medicine cabinets. Searching takes  _ hours _ , because for a (supposedly) unpaired Dom, Tony has a massive apartment, and the sun’s starting to set by the time Steve finishes 

Finding everything else to be inconclusive, he heads to the lowest floor of the suite via the elevator and tries the first door he sees. 

Or would, if the magic ceiling (JARVIS? He thinks he remembers Tony calling it JARVIS) didn’t inform him that he doesn’t have access to it. 

“Why? What’s in there?”

“Sir’s workshop. There are some sensitive projects occurring at the moment, I cannot let you in unless you have his permission.” 

_ Workshop… _ obviously a codename for something much, much worse. Why else would it be locked? Tony, no,  _ Stark _ , probably hides his torture dungeon behind those doors, and his other submissives. A Dom like him wouldn’t be satisfied with just one sub. He needs to find a way to break in, to sate his own curiosity and potentially to have some allies if he’s going to be here for a month. 

A quick search around the other hallways in the bottom floor reveals no other entryway, or, well, no entryway that isn’t  _ also _ controlled by JARVIS who still won’t let him inside. However, he does spot a maintenance ladder that leads up to the air ducts. Perfect. 

Double-checking his planned route to the “workshop,” he climbs up the ladder and starts crawling. The sensation isn’t dissimilar to when he was running drills during basic training for the Army; his knees and palms start to hurt from the cold, unyielding metal, but there’s still a deep sense of satisfaction. At first he’s worried that the ducts won’t support his weight, but once they hold steady and he gets used to their creaks and groans as he navigates their cramped and narrow tunnels, his determination comes back in full force. 

Once he’s pretty sure he finds the correct vent, he’s faced with another problem: no screwdriver to take off the grate. Damnit. He can’t go inside, but he can get a decent look into the dungeon. 

Which isn’t actually a dungeon at all. It looks like… like a workshop. There’s a desk that’s covered in papers and coffee mugs, scattered machine parts and tools everywhere, and in his limited view of the room, he can start to make out a corkboard with multiple lists pinned to it. 

And in the center of the room, is his Dom, who’s berating a dejected-looking robot. Of course he is. Steve’s breath hitches, and he pulls away from the grate to try and not be seen, but still listens closely to the conversation. 

“Butterfingers! For fuck’s sake, hand me the  _ breadboard _ , not the  _ bread _ , it’s barely 3pm, I don’t need food right now.”

That’s when JARVIS speaks up. “Sir, if I may, it’s 7:00 PM.”

This makes Tony whip his head up towards the ceiling, dangerously close to the vent grate and where Steve is hiding. “What do you mean it’s 7:00 PM? I was gonna take Steve shopping today! Where is he? We can still go.” 

Something pulls at Steve’s heart. Tony was going to go shopping with him? And he spent the whole day trying to find evidence of him being a terrible Dom? He feels like a complete heel. 

“Additionally, regarding your submissive, I would advise you to check the ventilation system.” 

“What?” Tony looks nervous, but not as nervous as Steve feels. The jig is up, Tony’s going to kill him for snooping and disobeying his seemingly-only boundary. 

“Mr. Rogers is currently hiding in the vent closest to your workshop. I believe he is in danger of inhaling the chromium fumes you were working with.” 

“ _ What? _ ” Tony moves out of Steve’s field of view for a second, and comes back in, holding a stepladder. He places the ladder on the wall closest to Steve. 

Steve’s heart is pounding. He’s going to get punished, he knows it. His mind flashes back to what he read in Christine Everhart’s novel: whippings that last for hours, being passed around at high society parties for their entertainment, taking opiates to numb the pain. He’s so paralyzed by the onset of pure fear that he almost doesn’t realize that he’s looking directly into Tony’s eyes. They’re unreadable. 

“I can explain, I  _ swear _ ,” he starts, trying to get himself out of trouble. Maybe if he’s apologetic enough, or if he offers Tony a blowjob or three, he won’t get punished as hard. He can’t show fear, though, that’ll just make it worse. 

“I’m sure you can. Living room,  _ now _ .” God, he sounds so angry. How did he mess up this badly on day two? He couldn’t just leave well enough alone? He wants to beg, to plead, if only for his own peace of mind. But instead, he lets Tony unscrew the grate and climbs out of the vent duct. 

He notices that he’s shaking by the time he’s on the ground. And he’s alone. Tony’s gone off to prepare whatever punishment he has in mind. 

Deciding that being late will only make it worse, he reluctantly heads to the living room. He hopes that Tony won’t stay angry the whole night. 

* * *

Steve is the best submissive on the planet and Natasha deserves all of the presents for introducing them, Tony’s decided. He  _ knew _ that it was late, and he remembered that Tony had promised him a shopping trip, and upon being met with JARVIS’ stuffy protocols, he’d taken it upon himself to get Tony out of the workshop by any means necessary. He deserves a nice reward, in the form of anything and everything he wants. 

Tony heads to his bedroom first, and changes out of his disgusting shop clothes. He can’t be seen out on the town with his sub looking like a greasy rat. A few sprays of his strongest cologne masks the motor oil scent, and washing his hands with dish soap gets rid of the remaining dirt and grime under his cuticles. After brushing his hair and putting a dash of styling gel in it, he looks like a person again. 

He makes a mad dash to the living room to see Steve waiting on the couch for him. Grabbing his wallet and phone, he calls out to his sub. 

“C’mon, I think Jan’s boutique is still open.” 

“Huh?” Steve looks bewildered. Probably worried about the price. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to return it after your contract is up. I know how much SADA subs get paid, and if you need to sell it for rent afterwards, I don’t blame you.” 

Steve still looks confused, and a little afraid, which is weird. He waits by the elevator for a few minutes before asking again. “We don’t have to go right now, if that bothers you. We can go in the morning if you don’t want to be out super late.”

“Sir, I, I just-- what are you talking about?” The tremor in his sub’s voice makes Tony take a good look at him, and, oh  _ no _ , there are tears in his eyes. Something’s gone wrong. He can’t say what, but something’s gone horribly wrong. He should start explaining. 

“I’m talking about our shopping trip. I promised you that we’d go and get you real clothes today. And a better collar, one with a bell, because you’re absurdly quiet when you want to be.” 

Steve’s shoulders, which were bunched up with tension, suddenly relax, as if the invisible strings that were holding him up had been cut. He still looks like he’s going to cry, so Tony walks over to the couch and sits with him. He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, holds him close, and feels Steve slump against him and bury his face into the crook of Tony’s shoulder, clearly exhausted. 

“You wanna tell me what’s got you so upset?” When Steve gives him a high-pitched whine instead of a coherent answer, Tony sighs, and strokes Steve’s back gently, reassuring. He can feel a damp spot forming on his shirt where Steve’s face is, but he doesn’t really care about that right now. 

“It’s okay honey, you don’t have to. You wanna go to the boutiques in SoHo and look at socks made of ethically-harvested alpaca wool?” 

  
Steve makes a noise that sounds like ‘yes please,’ and pulls himself up to wipe at his eyes, so Tony considers the crisis mostly-averted. They stand up from the couch together, and Tony takes Steve to the garage. Steve picks the red maserati for their outing because he has  _ excellent  _ taste, and Tony makes yet another mental note to send Natasha a gift basket for picking out the best sub in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated! Find me on tumblr as @theotherwasdeath!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony pick up Steve's new collar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this ON TIME! Ha! I win! 
> 
> School is still kicking my ass and I've had next to no time to write, but I'm still here >:)
> 
> Sidenote: Medical anatomy is a fun class but it's exhausting. Ugh.

Steve feels like he’s breaking some kind of unspoken rule, walking around New York City at night on Tony’s arm. He can’t exactly shake the fear that comes from being a submissive outdoors with the sun down. Not to mention, he’s seen more than a few people do double-takes when they realize who they just walked by, and he’s pretty sure that there’s a couple photographers trailing them. 

All his fears disappear, however, when Tony looks at him like he’s something precious and asks him which store he wants to go into first. 

“You promised me new clothes. I can’t spend the entire month in your old sweatpants.”

Tony considers his choice thoughtfully for a second before saying, “In that case, we’re not going to a store, we’re going to my tailor. He’s on-call, and it’ll take a little bit of time for him to get to his shop, so pick another place.” 

“You also promised me a new collar, with a bell?” He doesn’t think Tony was serious about the bell, but he’s grateful for the new collar. The standard-issue ones come in two colors, red or blue, and they fray within three months but only get reissued every year, unless Steve wants to pay $50 for a new one. 

That’s half his groceries for the month, or a quarter of his therapy appointments, or, or, or. There’s no way he’s wasting $50 on a  _ collar _ . And it’s not like any of his other assignments would waste hundreds, potentially thousands of dollars, on a collar for a mail-order submissive. The one Tony picks out for him should be higher quality, so he’ll be able to wear it for multiple years, this is the kind of luxury he could previously only imagine.

When they get to the jeweler’s, Tony makes a beeline to the front desk and asks for a specific designer, someone named Janet Van Dyne, to come work with them. Steve’s never heard of her, but Tony says that he and Van Dyne “go way back, same boarding school, she went to the Fashion Institute and I went to MIT,” so he trusts her. 

He was right to do so, too. Janet (“You sound like my mother, call me Jan,” she says to him) is a 5 ft 4 spitfire who bombards him and Tony with questions. Mainly Tony. 

“Enough pleasantries, Anthony Edward  _ Stark _ , when did you get a submissive? And such a pretty one too!” Steve blushes as she tightens her measuring tape around his neck and loosens it slightly.

“Natasha picked him out for me, he’s from the institutional whorehouse.” That makes Steve whip his head around to gawk at Tony. He forgets how Doms, no matter how nice they act, are all  _ assholes _ about mail-orders, and he doesn’t care if he gets a beating for it, he’s not letting Tony disparage his job like that. 

“Don’t call Submissives And Dominance Affairs that, they’re providing a valuable service, all of us submissives work extremely hard to please  _ you people _ with your stupid fucking esoteric desires, and--” 

Tony cuts him off by giving him a kiss on the cheek and a smirk. Jan offers both of them complementary glasses of champagne, giggling. 

“You got a feisty one there, Anthony!”

“Don’t I know it. What options do you have for fabric? Something soft and flexible.” Jan leaves to pull swatches for them, and Tony turns to him, looking serious. 

“I’m sorry, honey. You’re right, I shouldn’t talk like that about your job, doesn’t matter if we’re around other Doms.” Well shit, he didn’t expect the man to actually  _ apologize _ . Steve takes an awkward sip of his champagne, face screwing up when the carbonation hits him. 

“It’s… it’s okay. I know what Doms are like, you didn’t mean anything by it.” 

“Still, though. I wouldn’t like it very much if you called being a CEO a parasitic waste on society, I shouldn’t call you and your coworkers prostitutes.” 

Steve feels warm and tingly, and he would assume that it was the alcohol, but he hasn’t been a lightweight since freshman year of college. He’s  _ never  _ had a Dom apologize for upsetting him, and he’s especially never had a Dom recognize that it was  _ their fault _ . Tony keeps surprising him, and it makes him feel things that he hasn’t felt since Brock. 

...But he’s having a good night, and he doesn’t want to ruin it by thinking of Brock, so he pushes that thought from his head and focuses on the conversation that Tony and Jan are having about his new collar. Tony’s asking him for input about… something. 

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” 

Jan huffs slightly, but says “What color? Tony keeps insisting on red.”

“It’s a good color!” 

“It’s  _ your _ color, and the shade of red you want looks terrible with his undertones and would clash with his eyes. Steve, honey, be a good boy and tell him you want the cerulean. Or any other cool color, I think you’d look beautiful in emerald.” 

He looks at the rainbow of leather swatches that Jan’s put on the table. Two of them are pulled out from the group, a brick red and a dark sky blue. He’s still feeling fuzzy and warm inside, floating slightly, which is probably why he says what he does.

“I want… I want whatever Tony wants. He’s my Dom.” 

Tony beams at him, and then flips Jan off. “The red, Ms. Van Dyne.”

Jan balks at him. “Betrayal, Steven! Betrayal! Tony told me you did art history in college, I thought you of all people would understand color theory!” 

“Tony’s smart, he wouldn’t make me look ugly.” Steve would say anything to make Tony smile at him again, and if that means making Jan faint from the thought of clashing undertones, so be it. 

She groans, and Tony gives him that look again, the one that makes Steve feel like he’s a faberge egg in a museum, delicate, precious, and worthy of admiration and adoration. 

“Do you want anything else on your collar? We’re getting it lined, and we’re getting you a name tag because I’m a possessive bastard, but do you want anything else?” 

Steve knows exactly what he wants. “You  _ promised _ me a bell, you keep forgetting.” 

Tony laughs, and it sounds like heaven. “We’ll get you your bell, then. In gold, to match the buckle and the other hardware.”

Jan writes down their specifications onto her notepad and promises that it’ll be overnighted to Tony’s penthouse. They leave, and Steve leans on Tony the whole way to the five block walk to the tailor’s shop. 

Because their good luck can’t last, on the way there, they’re accosted by a rogue tabloid reporter. Some young upstart who introduces himself right away as Peter Parker, who’s a  _ massive _ fan of Tony Stark and would be  _ honored _ for an exclusive interview. 

Steve wants to tell the kid to get lost and go get his clothes, but Tony whispers something interesting into his ear. “I know this kid, one of the only subs working at the Bugle, the journalism industry is  _ shit _ for subs, let’s humor him, huh?” 

“Are you sure?” Parker’s still waiting, looking more anxious by the minute, and nattering away about how incredible it is that he ran into  _ the  _ Tony Stark. 

“I’m sure, but if you want to leave, or if he makes you uncomfortable, we’re booking it, I promise.” Tony’s reassurance calms him enough that he allows Parker to ask them a few questions. 

“So uh, oh my God, I didn’t actually think I’d get this far, um, oh Jesus, I think I have my questions on my phone, oh nonononono, Siri,  _ please _ cooperate, come on, oh no, I swear I’m more professional than this, Mr. Stark, thank you for this opportunity, I--” 

“Kid,  _ breathe _ , I’m not gonna evaporate.” 

Parker blinks at Tony, not having expected his attention, takes a deep breath, cycles through about six different emotions on his face, and pulls out his phone. 

“Okay, so, question one, everyone’s been wanting to know who your mystery submissive is, what can you tell us about him?”

Tony smiles slightly, “Mystery submissive, huh? Makes me sound like I’m in a romance novel. This is Steve, and he’s perfect.” 

_ He thinks I’m perfect? _ Steve tries not to let the shock show on his face. Tony can’t be serious, surely. He barely knows Steve, doesn’t know how… damaged he is. It shouldn’t take a whole month for Tony to learn that Steve’s a shitty sub, and then he’ll be glad that their contract is over. No, Tony thinks that the  _ idea _ of Steve is perfect -- someone pretty and sad who can be made less sad by calling them sweetheart and making them hot chocolate. 

He tells himself this because the alternative is too terrifying for him to confront.

Parker’s moved onto asking more fluffy questions, about Tony’s company and about celebrity gossip, which doesn’t interest Steve at all, but he ends the interview with “Christine Everhart’s coming out with a second book, what do you think about that?” 

Steve looks at Tony’s face, gauging for any reaction at all, and squeezes Tony’s hand. “It’s okay, you don’t have to give an answer, it’s a rude question.” He couples that last statement with a glare at Parker, who puts his hands in the hair. 

“Yell at my boss, not me! I swear I’m not the one who cares about this stuff! We can end the interview, I’ll tell Mr. Jameson that you didn’t answer that one at the end.”

“Oh Lord, what’s a good kid like you doing working for J. Jonah Jameson?” 

Parker looks at the ground before replying. “He’s the worst boss at the Bugle. I requested a transfer a month ago, never happened. Oh my God, why did I say  _ that? _ You don’t care about my stupid job problems.” 

Tony considers Parker for a few tense seconds. “SI’s PR department’s always hiring. High turnover rate for interns, can’t imagine why.” He takes out his wallet and hands Parker a business card. 

“I don’t… I don’t understand. Why?”

“Because you’re clearly wasted on a gossip rag. And because I like making people mad.” 

Parker laughs awkwardly. “You’re not serious. Or.. You’re serious? Really?” 

“Anything to piss off Jameson.” Tony leads Steve away and gives Parker a wink. “Tell them I sent you.” 

Steve leans closer to Tony as they approach the tailor’s shop, a small but well-decorated building that looks homey, like it’s run by a family. “That was nice of you. You didn’t need to do that.” 

“Jameson’s a dickhead. Half of our PR and social media interns are from the Bugle originally, and most of them are subs. I don’t deal with them directly, but our head of PR tells me that the workplace environment over there is particularly hostile.” 

When they enter, they’re greeted by a greying old man with a slight curve to his back. Tony hugs the man and introduces him to Steve, calling him a family friend of the Starks  _ and _ the Van Dynes. They exchange small talk for a few minutes before turning their attention to Steve. 

“And who is this fine young man you’ve brought to me today, Anthony? Are you finally settling down?” 

Tony laughs. “It’s too late at night to talk about that, but for the moment, tell your wife that her mahjong club doesn’t need to send their single nephews and nieces my way.” 

George smiles fondly at Tony, shaking his head slightly like there’s an old joke there. “You know she won’t do that. Now let me take this one’s measurements so we can get you back home.” 

The man is quick with a tape measure, and after some discussion of what they actually want (Steve has very little input, happy to go with the basics, but Tony wants a full formal suit  _ and _ options for casual wear and new pajamas), they head back to their car. 

Before they leave, Tony sends a quick text to someone. The only reason Steve notices is because Tony hadn’t pulled out his phone all night. 

“Who was that?” He asks, trying to start up a conversation as he buckles his seatbelt. 

Strangely enough, Tony goes slightly red, and stammers as he says “Oh, um, no one important. Nothing that concerns you, anyways. Why?” 

“Just curious, is all. Are we going home?” He doesn’t know how or when over the course of the night he started considering Tony’s suite  _ home _ , but it just slipped out.

“Yeah, we’re going home.” Tony lets him pick the radio station and talk his ear off about how excited he is for his new clothes and collar the whole way back, and not even NYC traffic can put a damper on his mood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos ALWAYS appreciated! I read and appreciate them all, even if I have no time to respond!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony spend a day in the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just took a medical anatomy midterm and I did? Okay? On it? Perhaps? Anyways I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Tony might have just fucked up royally. 

The second Steve asks him who he’s texting is when the novelty wears off and the guilt starts eating at him. He’d been too embarrassed and ashamed to ask his tailor to make Steve custom lingerie out loud, and he didn’t want to scare Steve, who’s  _ clearly _ had horrible experiences with demanding Doms, so, like the coward he is, he sent his request over a text message. 

And now he has to listen to Steve talk about how grateful he is to Tony for letting him design his own collar and wardrobe, and how he doesn’t know how he’ll ever pay Tony back for being so generous, and how Tony’s so different from other Doms, and godfucking _ damnit _ , New York traffic could not be moving  _ slower _ . 

“I just… I dunno, you didn’t have to do any of this. So thank you, really.” 

“Steve, I might have told you this already, but in case you need to hear it again: it’s my pleasure. I’m your Dom, I’ll take care of you.”

“You’ve certainly given me that impression. Is there, I mean, I don’t want to  _ impose _ , but…”

Now Tony’s intrigued. “But what?” What could his adorable little sub be planning?

“IsthereanythingIcandoforyou?” 

“Say that again, with actual words.” Steve glowers at him and sighs, sinking down into the car seat. 

“I said, is there anything I can do for you? Tonight, I mean. Sir.”  _ Oh.  _ Steve wants to go under. Because Tony’s been nice to him today. 

“Darling, you don’t have to--” He starts. Steve’s definitely feeling coerced, he can’t in good conscience let him think that he has to submit tonight just because Tony took him on a little excursion and got him a few shirts. Especially since he doesn’t know what  _ else _ Tony ordered for him, without his knowledge. 

“I want to. I meant what I said, you’re different. You’re not like Br-- I mean, you’re not like the other Doms I’ve had.” 

Something about the way Steve speaks about his old Doms makes a low, possessive anger flare up in Tony’s gut. “Do these ‘other Doms’ have names and addresses?”

Steve gives him a light shove, giggling a little, and it’s the most adorable thing Tony’s ever heard. “Well now they don’t. Don’t kill my shitty exes, that’s illegal.” He takes it all back, Steve is dumb and Steve’s ethics are even dumber.

“I’m a billionaire, nothing’s illegal for me.” 

“Fine then, Mr. Billionaire, don’t kill my shitty exes because it would make me sad.” 

Tony can’t argue with that. After today, the last thing he wants is to see Steve sad. When they get back, they take the elevator up to Tony’s penthouse together, and Tony leads them both into his bedroom. Once they get there, Steve hops onto the bed and looks at Tony expectantly. 

“Well?” 

“You’re sure you want to do a scene tonight? You’ve had a long day, I’m sure you’re tired. I can wait, I don’t  _ need _ this the same way that subs do.” 

“For the  _ last time _ , I’m sure, now can you  _ please _ do your one job and send me so deep into subspace I forget my middle name?”  _ There’s _ that fiery temper. It’ll be hard work to get him there, Tony’s going to enjoy seeing him too blissed-out to care about talking back. 

“Brat. Take off your clothes.” Steve strips, but he tosses his pants and shirt onto the floor haphazardly, and smirks at Tony smugly, like he’s somehow won. 

“I did what you asked, Sir.”  _ Complete _ brat. Natasha’s getting two fruit baskets. 

“I see you did, thank you. But do you think you did it particularly well?” He ignores Steve as he takes off his own jacket and hangs it up in the closet. He leaves his shirt and pants on. 

The lack of attention and immediate punishment makes Steve falter a bit. “No, Sir.” 

“That’s right. Fold your clothes for me, and lie down on the bed, face-down.” 

He watches Steve pick up the sweatpants and sweatshirt from the floor, and fold and roll them into tight bundles. Huh. He must have a sibling or a family member in the military, then, because that’s the same way that Rhodey folds his clothes. Steve lies down gingerly, and sticks his perfect ass up in the air for Tony. 

It’s a  _ stunning _ display, but he has no intentions of letting tonight go very far. Steve’s still new and hesitant to trust, and Tony’s already taken too many liberties today. He repositions Steve so he’s lying down flat, and opens his bedside drawer. Then, he pulls the false bottom of the drawer out and offers Steve a choice. 

“Lavender and mint or citrus and eucalyptus?” 

“Sir? I don’t understand.” Steve already sounds floaty and distant, not all the way down, but getting there fast. 

“Which scent do you like better? Lavender and mint or citrus and eucalyptus? I like the citrus one better, mint always smells a little toothpaste-y to me, but it’s your choice.” 

“I want whatever you want.” God, he’s so fucking amazing. Natasha’s getting three fruit baskets. 

Tony takes the essential oil and pours out a good amount onto his palms, settling his hands on Steve’s shoulder blades. He starts in small circles, pressing firmly into the muscle. The scent of the oil perfumes the room, and Steve moans underneath him. 

“Sir,  _ please,  _ harder, harder--”

“Shhhh, I’m not gonna go harder, I don’t want to hurt you.” Tony punctuates this by moving to Steve’s lower back and pressing down, directly onto a bundle of tension and nerves. Steve whines, high in his throat.    
  


“I can take it, please, I want it.” 

“No, now relax and enjoy your massage.” 

Steve whimpers, but as Tony continues, loosening every knot he finds in Steve’s back, which is far too many for any sub, in his opinion, the whimpers subside into little gasps and sighs, and Steve sinks into subspace. 

“Your back is a  _ mess _ , what’s got you so stressed out, dearest?” He’s moved onto massaging Steve’s shoulders and neck, which are someone  _ worse _ than his back, obviously used to being hunched up all the time. 

“Was in the Army, used to be a captain, lotta late nights doing paperwork.”  _ Wait a minute… _

“...Subs can’t join the military.” Tony takes his hands off of Steve’s shoulders for a second in shock.

“Lied on my enlistment forms, Sir.” And he should  _ not _ be that comfortable with just… admitting to committing federal crimes. Especially after he made fun of Tony for wanting to kill his exes! Steve, oblivious to the mild crisis that Tony’s having, sighs contentedly and nestles himself into the bed, between a few pillows. “Can you do my neck again, Sir? I really liked it.” 

Tony complies, and Steve gasps happily, enjoying himself. He’s half-hard, but seems content with just the massage for now, so Tony lets it be. They’ll talk tomorrow, when Steve’s lucid, about boundaries and all of the crunchy details and technicalities that Tony’s never liked. 

When Tony finishes, he turns Steve over and pulls the comforter over him. He walks to the in-wall refrigerator that he keeps inside his bedroom specifically for this purpose, and pulls out a selection of fruits and cheeses and crackers for Steve, as well as bottles of red wine and water. He’ll use this time to figure out what Steve likes, and then get more of that for next time.

(He hopes there’s a next time, Steve is a  _ vision _ in bed.)

“How’re you feeling? Relaxed?”

Steve nods, eyes closed, a small smile on his face. 

“I have food for you. I know you didn’t get the chance to eat a real dinner.” Steve opens one eye, peeking at the charcuterie board that Tony’s laid out. He looks at Tony like he doesn’t know what to pick. Tony can fix that. 

“Let’s try apples and cheddar, first. That’s a classic, you look like you appreciate the classics.” 

Tony lets Steve try several different combinations of fruits and cheeses, hand-feeding him and giving him kisses in between each bite and intermittently letting him take sips of red wine. After one of the more out-there ones (brie aux truffes and black fig), Steve looks like he’s completely out of subspace, but still happy and sated.

Steve flutters his eyelashes at Tony, trying to be coy, but it mostly comes off as obnoxiously cute. So cute that Tony can’t help but kiss Steve’s forehead, put away their snacks, and slip into bed with him. 

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?”

“I loved it. Ten out of ten, would go again.”

“Well, let’s wait until the morning for that. Sleep.”

Steve closes his eyes, but not before sneaking another kiss from Tony.  _ Brat.  _ Four, Natasha’s getting four fruit baskets. Steve’s worth infinitely more, it’s the least he could do. 

***

Waking up after a night of being under, Steve feels a sense of deja vu, but it’s mitigated by seeing Tony still in bed. He’s on the phone, and Steve listens in on the conversation, liking the sense of domestic bliss it gives him. 

“--I don’t know why you’re mad, you love fruit. I understand that twelve is a lot of fruit baskets, but-- No I could  _ not _ have sent them to your house, you live in Jersey, I’m not sending my employees to Jersey, not even for you.” 

Steve stifles a laugh. Tony may be different in a lot of key ways, but this sounds like such a  _ classic _ Dom move. Doing whatever he wants, consequences and appearances be damned. At least it’s in the form of fruit baskets and not anything else. He and the person on the other end of the line are still talking. 

“Well if you hate papayas so much, just give them to the people at your job! What do you mean it looks weird to just give out fruit to people you’ve never spoken to?” 

Steve’s barely keeping it together at this point. He’s sure that Tony knows he’s awake by now and is playing it up for his amusement.

“You know what, Romanov? Call me back when you’re being reasonable. Goodbye.” After Tony hangs up, he turns to Steve and gestures at his phone with a ‘can you believe this guy?’ expression. 

“And this is why I don’t hang out with other Doms. Too many strong personalities in a room.” 

“Uh huh, has nothing to do with you sending someone a dozen fruit baskets for no reason?” 

Tony gets mock-offended. “Not for  _ no reason _ , I sent her a dozen fruit baskets because she introduced me to you!” 

Well damn, now Steve’s blushing. Why is his Dom so  _ romantic _ all the time? “Do you have anything to do today?” He asks, hoping to change the topic. It’s a Saturday, so he doesn’t think Tony will, but who knows. 

“Nothing important, just paperwork. I was hoping you’d want to come to the office with me, it’ll be mostly empty so we’ll be free from people asking nosy questions.” 

Steve would love that. Brock… Brock  _ hated _ any semblance of including Steve in his life. The chance to be a part of Tony’s, outside the bedroom, is one that he’s going to leap at. 

***

The SI building may be a blight on the skyline, but the view is unparalleled. They’re in Tony’s office, which is cozier than Steve would have thought it would be; a plush rug on the vinyl floors, warm, light grey tones on the walls, a massive window that takes up an entire wall, and Steve’s favorite,  [ a dark blue papasan chair ](https://www.walmart.com/ip/Better-Homes-Gardens-Papasan-Chair-with-Fabric-Cushion-Navy/915635600?selected=true) that he’s currently ensconced in. He’d asked Tony for a few pieces of paper and some pencils to sketch with, and he’s having an enormous amount of fun capturing Tony’s face as he makes angry phone calls and gets frustrated with his emails. 

It’s been four hours, and Tony glances at the clock, so Steve does too. It’s half-past noon, so they’re past due for a lunch break. Steve’s stomach growls serendipitously, and he blushes a little, embarrassed. 

“I’ll go get us something to eat, then. You stay put,” Tony says, getting up from his desk and heading to the door. 

“I’ll come with you! I… I wanna meet your co-workers. Or employees. Whatever you call them.” He’s feeling a lot bolder today, and it makes him a little dizzy, being able to just  _ tell _ his Dom what he wants. 

Tony blink at him, taken aback. “You want to- why didn’t you say so earlier? I’ve been keeping you cooped up in here with nothing but your phone and some paper for entertainment. Come on then, I’ll show you the breakroom and you can meet some people. I’ll be right back, I’m headed to the deli next door.” 

Steve follows Tony to the breakroom, where there are a few people milling about, chatting amicably. Surprisingly, all of them are subs, and all of them are contracted with wealthy Doms, if their designer brand collars are anything to go by. They all go silent and stare directly at Steve when the two of them walk in. 

“Hello everyone! This is Steve, he’s my submissive, play nice with him or you lose your job!” Tony rushes out of the room, then dashes back in. “What did you want on your bagel? Did I ask you that yet?”

Steve huffs out a laugh.  _ Such _ a Dom sometimes. “Sesame seed bagel, and whatever has the most protein on it. And matzo ball soup, if they have it.” 

“Gotcha, now pretend I made a smooth exit and that you find me charming and dapper.” Tony gives him a peck on the cheek before rushing out to get their food. 

Immediately after the door to the breakroom shuts, Steve is bombarded with questions. 

“Oh my  _ God,  _ how big is his dick?” 

“Have you done a scene with him yet?” 

“Does he really have a harem?”

“Does he treat you well?” This one comes from a woman who’s close to his age, mid-twenties, in a jet black pencil skirt and a well-pressed white blouse. [Her collar](https://www.net-a-porter.com/en-us/shop/product/saint-laurent/leather-and-gold-tone-bracelet/1266251?gclsrc=aw.ds&cm_mmc=Google-ProductSearch-US--c-_-NAP_EN_US_PLA-_-NAP%C2%A0-%C2%A0US%C2%A0-%C2%A0GS%C2%A0-+Designer+-+Class_Jewelry+-+Type_Fashion+Jewelry%C2%A0-%C2%A0Medium%C2%A0-%C2%A0BT--Fashion+Jewelry+-+Bracelets_AM&gclid=Cj0KCQjwtsv7BRCmARIsANu-CQc3z9lj5sXbIEgR2s_jk23gM8p-i0Pn-sN068mCPEsprhPBRoK-JjYaAkZgEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds)’s simple-looking, unlined, dark leather, with the only defining feature being the gleaming gold letters that intertwine on the front of it. The only reason he knows it’s name-brand and not just her Dom being cheap is that he saw the same collar on display at Jan’s store last night. 

Steve doesn’t even have to think about the answer to that. “He’s the best Dom I’ve ever had.” 

The rest of them all look at each other knowingly, and Steve has the feeling that he’s royally screwed something up. 

“So when you say  _ best, _ I mean, that’s high praise, what did he do to earn that title? I mean, I think we’ve  _ all _ read Ms. Everhart’s memoir?” This comes from another sub, slightly older than him, in a smart-looking blue blazer and slacks, with a matching  [ corded collar ](https://www.hermes.com/us/en/product/goliath-bracelet-H066218FP7UT4/?engineid=GOOGLE&utm_campaign=PLA-TM-Natl-US-Jewelry&utm_adgroup=PLA-Bracelets&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_content=shopping&utm_term=PRODUCT_GROUP&gclid=Cj0KCQjwtsv7BRCmARIsANu-CQdZT7oB2vwXG4D_RDY6D7dQQAnfCiucLyvXtjFEqOFZS63PfGhRe8QaApHnEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds) . The other sub pushes himself back in his chair and sticks the heels of his loafers up onto the breakroom table. 

A chorus of assent goes up from around the room, and when Steve doesn’t answer, they prod him further. 

“Go on, your secret’s safe with us.”

Steve hesitates, then decides, fuck it, Tony brought him here because he trusts Steve, so he might as well brag for a few minutes. “He actually reciprocates. More than reciprocates.”

“ _ No! _ ” “Bullshit.” “I  _ know _ SADA doesn’t pay you enough to lie like that.” Well, that was to be expected. 

“It’s true! He’s… he’s nice. He gave me a massage last night.” 

All three of them exchange looks, and titter softly. There’s a loaded silence for a few seconds before the woman in the black collar speaks up, and says “Well, it was  _ lovely _ to meet you, I have to get back to work,” and leaves, taking the other two subs with her. 

And suddenly Steve’s alone in the breakroom, dissecting the conversation he just had. 

_ What I said is going to be  _ all over _ the company by Monday. Tony’s going to be angry. He’s going to punish me. Or… he’s going to punish me when he finds out.  _

_ I have to stop him from finding out.  _

He anxiously scrolls through his phone for a while, tries to draw but comes up with little more than sketchy outlines of figures and shapes. He thinks about calling Tony, asking him to go home, but that would just make him look more suspicious, so he lets it be.

He’s in the middle of aimlessly browsing Twitter when he jumps at the sound of another voice. 

“I got you food!” says Tony, as Steve almost startles out of his chair. 

“Oh my God! Tony!” Steve pants, clutching his chest. And he said that Steve’s the one that needs a bell. 

“Sorry, did I scare you? There was such a massive line, why are so many people getting bagels for lunch on a Saturday? Saturday’s more of a brunch day. Speaking of that, we need to go to brunch together at some point, you would love it, and-- what’s wrong?” 

_ I might have accidentally spilled a bunch of sensitive information about you to strangers and now everyone’s going to think you’re a terrible Dom. _ “Nothing, I just got used to the quiet. I’d love to go to brunch, maybe next weekend?” He says, as he takes the carryout bag from Tony and digs around for his food. 

“Next weekend’s lovely. Where’d your new friends go?” 

“I wouldn’t call three subs that I made smalltalk to for half an hour my friends, and they went back to their jobs, Tony. The ones you pay them for.” 

“Terribly rude of them to abandon you like that.” 

“Don’t fire them for working, they already came in on a weekend for you.” 

“I wasn’t going to do that!” 

_ “Tony.” _

“Okay, fine, but I’m going to have someone reprimand them.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Steve takes a bite of his bagel sandwich, which is piled high with eggs and smoked salmon. 

Tony rolls his eyes at Steve, and pulls him close to kiss his forehead. “You’re such a brat. Eat your food, I have one last meeting today and then we’re headed home, thank  _ God _ .”

And suddenly Steve knows how he can keep Tony from finding out about how badly he fucked up. “When we get back, do you want me to… service you?” 

Tony looks at him cautiously, “You just went down, like, last night. Are you sure? I can handle myself, just because I’m a little stressed doesn’t mean I need an entire scene.” 

Steve swallows another bite of his food, and mentally prepares to lie to Tony’s face. “I want to, Sir. I really like being yours.”

Tony shakes his head at him, smiling. “You are so adorable, it’s infuriating. Alright, we’ll do a quick one when we get home.” 

A quick one won’t be enough to keep Tony in bed for multiple days. “Actually, Sir, I was thinking we could do something longer. A lot longer.” 

That’s the point at which he pushes it too far. “Steve, what you’re asking me to do requires  _ very _ careful planning, as well as time away from my job. I can’t do that right now, I told you when we started, I really am too busy for a sub.”

“But--” 

“No, Steve, I’m already behind on work. And another thing, this is extremely sudden for you. You’re nervous and twitchy, and you’ve been my sub for less than a week, but you want to do a multi-day scene? You’re hiding something from me.” 

“I’m not, I swear, Sir, please don’t get angry with me,” he’s  _ extremely _ glad they’re alone in the breakroom right now, because he doesn’t know if he could handle it if anyone heard him groveling. 

Tony groans, putting his face in his palms. “Dear Lord, are you  _ dropping _ right now? Seriously?” And  _ ouch _ , if that isn’t a kick in the guts. He should have guessed that Tony’s infatuation with him would run out eventually. And that it would happen the second he was anything less than convenient. He feels tears start to well up in his eyes. 

“JARVIS, get the elevator. Make sure Steve relaxes before I get back.” Tony turns to him, and tells him “We’re going to have a talk about this later, okay?” 

Steve bites his lip and nods. Tony walks him to the elevator, and it takes him directly to the penthouse, alone. JARVIS directs him to Tony’s bedroom, and instructs him to lie down. The wall splits open to reveal a TV, and he’s asked what he wants to watch. 

“Do you have The Office?” The opening theme song of The Office plays, and  _ goddamnit,  _ it’s the episode where Jim tells Pam he loves her. He can’t watch that right now. 

“JARVIS, something else. Anything else.” An episode of Chopped starts playing instead. It’ll have to do. 

As he watches the contestants try to cook an appetizer with chicken skin and Jordan almonds, he can almost forget what’s waiting for him when Tony finds out what he’s done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the ending. Poor Steeb :(


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony talk about a couple of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a Herculean effort to write. I had a lot of fun with it though. I hope you enjoy!

All throughout the meeting, Tony wants to call JARVIS, tell him to bring Steve back down, and apologize. Getting frustrated with a sub because they like being under and _want_ to submit to you? Not the number one Tony Stark fuckup, but it’s in the top five for sure. 

Being around the sleazy older Doms on the Board of Trustees makes him want to run back home to his sub, too. Haroldson is the worst one; he’s seen him leering at their secretaries too many times, and he’s 99% sure that he’s been bribing HR to cover up harassment claims. Which brings up the issue of needing to overhaul the HR department too, but he needs to extinguish imminent problems first. 

It’ll be his 40th birthday soon, at which point he’ll have his full senior rights to the company which will let him rewrite the bylaws so that whoever he names as his successor won’t have to deal with this bureaucratic nonsense. 

When they all _finally stop talking_ , Tony’s able to step out and grab a cup of coffee. He probably shouldn’t be having any at 5pm, but he needs it. That’s when he hears the aforementioned secretaries talking. About him, no less. 

“He said Stark gave him a _massage_ , can you imagine?”

“Oh my God, yes, with those arms, and _those hands_ , ugh, I wanted to punch him in the face, I was so jealous.” 

“You think if I quit my job and enlist at SADA, _I’ll_ get a hot, rich Dom who makes me come?” 

All three of them start to laugh, and Tony can’t help but flush red as he drinks his coffee. They’re talking about… his night with Steve. It makes sense, he supposes. Subs swap sex stories all the time. According to the rumors he’d heard as a teenager, that’s what they do at sleepovers, when they aren’t having lingerie pillow fights. 

Speaking of that… he checks his phone, and finds two texts, one from the tailor and one from Jan. Steve’s clothes, collar, and _other things_ are here, the last item in discreet packaging so as to not give away what it is. 

Taking his mug with him, he takes his private elevator up to his penthouse, and walks into the bedroom, setting his mug down gently on the side table to not wake Steve up. An episode of some horrible cooking reality show is playing, and by the looks of it, Steve had watched a few episodes before falling asleep. 

He considers waking Steve up, but....

Steve’s hair is plastered to his face, his undereyes look slightly puffy from crying, and he looks so damn _tired_ , that Tony leaves him be. He’ll take the couch tonight, if Steve isn’t awake before dinner. 

He heads back into the living room and collects the abundance of bags and boxes containing Steve’s new wardrobe, and pays special attention to a black felt-covered box with a white silk ribbon around it. Steve’s collar. 

He can’t help himself, so he takes a peek inside, slipping the ribbon off. 

It’s _stunning_. He has excellent taste. Soft, dusky red leather, with a dark fur lining to prevent bruising, and a small, burnished gold name tag attached to the front that has Steve’s name engraved on it in a serif font. The buckle on the back had to be steel, for durability, but it’s gold-plated. And the best part is the tiny, detachable bell that hooks underneath the nametag.

Tony’s been _trying_ , he’s been trying to not act like he’s some freshly-pubescent Dom that’s overcome with sheer lust, and he’s made sure to not push for anything too hard, but he’s dying to see Steve in this. It’ll look so much better around Steve’s neck than in a jewelry box. 

The other item of note is a nondescript lavender-colored paper bag from Tony’s tailor. It wouldn’t be anything special, but the usual bags are a pastel yellow. Which means Steve’s lingerie is here. He sets the lavender bag aside and stashes all of the other packages in the closet, and places the box with Steve’s collar on the bedside table. When he’s finished, he rushes out of the room and to his workshop with the bag of lingerie in hand. 

Surely it’d be better to just hide it away. He’d bought this without Steve even asking him to, without Steve even telling him if this was something he _liked_ . And it’s not like he’ll _die_ if he doesn’t get to see Steve wearing a see-through corset or a delicate chemise. 

...Okay, maybe he will die, but at least he’ll have died knowing that he never put Steve in an uncomfortable position. 

So he finds a safe corner, on top of a storage cabinet, away from prying robot claws, and leaves the bag there. Unless Steve decides to go through the vents again, he’ll never find out. 

***

When Steve wakes up, it’s with a jolt. He’s covered in sweat, the TV is still running, and he doesn’t know where he is or what time it is. He flails around for his alarm clock, and notices that the end table is on the wrong side, and that the ceilings are too high, and…

This isn’t his apartment. He’s on a contract right now. With Tony Stark. _Lovely_. 

As the events of the day come back to him, he wants to fall back asleep, but he’s filled with too much nervous, directionless energy to do that, so he forces himself to get up and get a glass of water. He checks the clock on the table -- 1:48 AM. Hopefully there’s food in the fridge, because nothing nearby will be open.

There’s a box on the table, too. It looks like the one his mother kept her only set of pearls in, matte black velvet. It definitely wasn’t there before, so out of curiosity he opens it. 

Fuck. His collar. The one Tony got for him. 

Now that he’s not having a panic attack or halfway into subspace, he realizes that he’s angry. He’s angry that he’s stuck in this job, he’s angry that his Dom seemed to be nice but wasn’t, and he’s angry that his Dom’s version of an apology is to just buy him things. So he makes up his mind: he’s not taking it. 

Tony can keep his fancy new clothes and his overpriced collar and his charcuterie boards. All Steve needs to do is ride out this month, and then he’s _done_. He’ll resign from SADA, get a boring dead-end job that doesn’t care about the dishonorable discharge on his record, and find some boring Dom at the same job who makes just enough money to let the two of them afford a two-bedroom apartment in the semi-decent part of Brooklyn. 

It’s the first plan he’s had in a while that seems like it has a chance of working. 

Tony said that he has work tomorrow, so Steve’s reasonably sure that he can grab a glass of water without running into the other man. But a small part of him wants a big, blowout confrontation, just for the emotional catharsis of it. 

So maybe that’s why he rehearses what he’d say to Tony in their hypothetical argument on his way down to the kitchen, along with what he imagines Tony would say, and his witty comebacks to what pretend-Tony would say. And that’s why he’s livid and muttering angrily under his breath as he dispenses some ice into his glass and fills it with cold water. 

And it’s _also_ why he screams when he hears footsteps behind him. 

“Hi,” Tony says. He’s looked better; the dark circles under his eyes are prominent, and there’s something dark and greasy-looking staining his hands and stuck under his fingernails. 

“What do you want?” Steve snaps. 

“You’re not wearing your collar,” Tony says, a tinge of sadness coloring his voice. As if he’s the one that gets to be sad right now. 

“I don’t want your collar.” It’s better to be upfront about this and not drag it on. 

Tony blinks at him like he’s grown a second head. “But we designed it together, you said you loved it, I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“No, you and Jan designed it, and you oh-so-graciously let me pick out the colors. Thank you for that, _Sir_.” 

Tony’s looking a little agitated, which sets his alarm bells off a little, but he wills himself to not resort to SADA training and start immediately apologizing. He can assert himself if he wants to. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I can’t deal with it right now, I’m going to bed. Are you coming, or will you be staying up?”

He ignores the second part of the question and focuses on the first. “No, you’re way too busy for me, you made that extremely clear.” 

Tony sighs. “Steve, for fuck’s sake, you’re making no sense right now, and we’re both clearly upset. Come to bed, we can talk about this in the morning.” 

“No, I don’t want to do a scene right now.” Steve’s not an idiot; he knows not to agree to a scene with a Dom that’s angry, especially when he’s angry too. 

“Who said anything about doing a scene? I meant to _sleep_ , honey, we’re both tired. Let’s go to bed and then talk about this like sane human beings.” Tony sounds exhausted and fed up. Steve knows that he really shouldn’t keep pushing, but he can’t help it. He needs to see Tony snap so he has a reason to feel this shaky and unsafe. 

“I don’t want to sleep, either!” 

“Then what _do_ you want, sweetheart, because I‘m gonna be honest, I’m at a loss for why you’re so upset.” 

Steve feels something in him crack, and there are tears stinging his eyes without his permission. “What do I want? I want out of this contract! I want a Dom who won’t throw me away when I start dropping! I want my stupid dishonorable discharge removed! I want to get a real job! I want my ex-Dom in jail! I--” and suddenly he’s on the floor, sobs wracking his body. He hates this, he hates this stupid contract and he hates Tony’s concern for him and he hates every little decision he ever made that led him to this point.

Tony wraps his arms around Steve, and the contact makes him realize that he’s shaking. He’s not even _sad_ , he’s just filled with pent-up anger, and it comes out as crying because his body is the _worst_. 

“Let’s start at the top of that list. You want out of this contract? SADA opens up at 9 AM, so we can get a good five or six hours of sleep and I can call them to terminate it then.” Steve nods. God, from twenty-seven days left to six hours, what a relief. He can survive six hours. 

“A Dom who won’t throw you away? I wanted to say that was me, but I don’t think you think that’s possible right now. I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have said what I said to you. I understand why you want another Dom.” 

Steve stands up on shaky legs, and Tony stands up with him. He catches a glimpse of himself in the polished chrome of the refrigerator, and he looks ridiculous. Red, puffy eyes and wearing a set of clothes that are clearly too small for him. “I. I don’t know how I feel about you right now. I’m gonna deal with that later.” 

Tony brushes a piece of hair out of his face, and nods. “Okay. So next item… dishonorable discharge?”

“I told you, I’m ex-Army. I lied on my enlistment forms. When they found out, they kicked me out, and now I can’t find any hiring manager that’ll look my way twice. I might have been in subspace, but I remember telling you that.” 

Tony gasps a little. “I thought… I thought you were just saying nonsense because you were so far under! You weren’t lying? Steve, that’s a _crime!_ Why would you do that?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Because I was poor, wanted money for college, and it was either the military or a shady dating website for lonely, rich Doms who want pictures of my feet.” 

“Just send them the foot pictures next time, so you don’t end up with _another_ felony record. Now, ex-Dom?”

“His name was Brock, which--”

“Was him being named Brock not enough of a red flag for you?”

“--should have been a red flag, yes, but in my defense, I was 24, I’d never had a serious Dom before, and he was… _so_ hot.” 

Tony snorts. “I’m sure he was. Now why do I need to sic my lawyers on him?”

Steve ignores Tony’s casual offer of legal protection and tries his best to explain without crying again. “He just… I like pain, right, what kind of sub doesn’t? And he was all about that, ‘order through pain’ was his whole thing.” He swallows the lump in his throat before continuing. 

“And. And one night, he had me tied up in bed, and I was mad that day, so I guess you could say it was my fault, I kept egging him on, you know I’m kind of an asshole. And he just. Snapped. Ignored all of my safewords, dislocated my shoulder, broke a couple of my ribs, and left me there. I got out of the ropes after tugging on them for _hours_. Got a text the next morning telling me that he’d ended our contract and reported me to the General.” 

A small chill goes through Tony’s body, and there’s visible tension in his jaw. “Does Brock have a last name? And a last known address?”

“It was _years_ ago, Tony, I-- I know I said I wanted him in jail, but honestly, it’d be… it’d be healthier if I moved on. Let it go.” 

“I’m not asking for you. I’m asking for me, and my own pride. JARVIS, look up all of the members of Steve’s unit, filter for anyone named Brock with a pattern of anger issues.” 

_“Tony._ Please, just drop it.” 

“No! He hurt you, you were in that contract for God-knows how long--”

“It was only two years.”

“Two _years?_ Absolutely not, I’m going to hunt him down and shoot him myself _tonight_ , I-”

Steve cuts Tony off with a deep kiss. When they break for air, he says, “No, you’re not. I need you to stay with me.” 

Tony gasps, slowly gaining his breath back. “Thank you for that. I don’t know what got into me.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to give Tony an amused snort, accompanied by a small giggle. “You’re _such_ a Dom, it’s unreal. Take me to bed?”

“Oh so _now_ you want to go to sleep.” Tony’s tone is playful, but now that Steve’s coming down from the flood of adrenaline and emotions, he feels ragged and ready to collapse. 

“Yes. If you’ll have me.” 

“Always. You want your collar?”

Steve imagines the satisfying weight against his neck, the soft warmth of the fur lining, the feeling of Tony closing the clasp around his neck. He wants it more than anything. “Yes, Sir.” 

Tony smiles at him and leads him up into their bedroom, where Steve had been only a couple of hours prior. There, Tony brings him his collar, and slides behind him to fasten it closed. Immediately, Steve feels himself start to settle. The room is cool, the sheets are soft, and Tony’s body is like a tiny furnace next to his.

Tony wraps his arms around Steve’s torso and pulls him close. “Do you still want me to call SADA in the morning?” 

SADA? Why would they need to be involved? He’s happy -- he’s safe and warm and comfortable inside Tony’s arms and in his bed. He’s even wearing Tony’s collar. Everything’s perfect. He shakes his head and makes a vague noise that he hopes registers as a ‘no.’ 

Tony’s breath of laughter tickles his neck. “Okay, sweetheart. Sleep.”

Steve’s eyes fall shut, and he dreams of being held and cherished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have anything to say for myself other than I was listening to a lot of My Chemical Romance while I was writing this and I think you can tell.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony go to brunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this in the future: the date is November 6th, 2020, the author is a QWOC living in the southern United States, and she feels like the meme where the dog is in an on-fire house and is like "This is fine." 
> 
> On the plus-side, I did very well on my recent midterms for university and I actually understand Laplace transforms. Actually, I like them enough to potentially take a class on Fourier analysis. Small victories.

Tony wakes up to Steve rummaging through the closet, throwing tissue paper everywhere as he tries on every article of clothing they’d gotten him. His hair is adorably mused, and he’s admiring himself in the mirror. He’s  _ unbearably _ stunning. 

“Well good morning, handsome. I take it you like your new outfits?” 

Steve whips around from where he’d been flexing his biceps in a deliciously-tight gym shirt. “They’re perfect.” 

Tony gets up from the bed to start his own morning routine. “I’m glad. Gimme an hour and a half and I’ll be with you. We’re going to visit some friends today. Well,  _ a _ friend. He’s been yelling at me for not introducing you to him.”

Steve does his adorable little blush-and-stammer thing. Tony will never get tired of it, he hopes that he can scandalize Steve by saying relatively normal things for the entirety of their contract. 

“A-are you sure? I just. I know I embarrassed you last time. Lord knows what the subs at your work are saying about you now.” 

Tony walks over to Steve and clasps one of his hands between both of his. “You could never embarrass me,” he starts, and before he can get heartfelt at mushy at 10 AM, he follows it up with “and besides, all they’re saying is how sexy I am for giving good massages.”

That makes Steve go even  _ redder _ , and it’s delightful. He looks even more pink than he is against the stark white of his new t-shirt. Tony takes pity on him, and gives him a way out of the conversation.

“Ninety minutes, you can time me, and then we’re meeting a friend for brunch.” 

Steve recovers slightly, processes what was said to him, and says “What are you doing in your bathroom that takes  _ ninety minutes? _ ”

“It’s called a beauty regime, Steven, I wouldn’t expect you to understand, seeing as you’re just naturally the most gorgeous man on the planet.” 

He rolls his eyes at Tony, the brat, there’s the little hellion he’s missed, and sits down on their bed, looking like the absolute picture of petty and miffed. 

“Who are we meeting? Specifically, I mean.”

“My Rhodeybear! You’ll love him, he’s also ex-military, you already have so much in common.”

Steve thinks back to the Air Force uniforms he found in Tony’s spare bedrooms, and to his memories of higher-ranked Doms in the army, and sucks in a deep breath. Tony is safe, he trusts Tony, so he trusts Tony’s friends. He has to. 

“I can’t wait,” he lies. 

***

James Rhodes has the kind of presence that makes a Dom like Tony look like a switch. He’s imposing, even when he’s dressed casually for Sunday brunch with a friend and surrounded by the cutesy interior of a French café. 

That doesn’t stop Tony from rushing up to him, past their waiter, and yelling “RHODEY!” loud enough for the entire restaurant to give them looks. The two of them hug, and Rhodes gives Steve a glance up and down. 

“Damn, Tones, you’re really robbing the cradle here.” 

Before Steve can say that he’s in his 30s and has seen his fair share of horrifying and grotesque images, Tony speaks for him. 

“Shut up, we got assigned to each other by SADA. This isn’t a reverse ‘me and you-know-who’ situation” 

That’s when Rhodes asks him the one question that he’s been dreading. “So tell me about yourself, because  _ this asshole, _ ” he says, referring to Tony, “-neglected to bring up anything.”

Tony squawks indigintly. “I wanted you two to meet in person! And we only met like, two days ago!” 

Rhodes ignores him, and waits for Steve’s response. 

“Well, I grew up in Brooklyn. Went to NYU for Art History. Was in the army for a little, but--”

“You were in the  _ what  _ now?” Rhodes looks at him with the same shock that Tony had. Doms really  _ are _ all the same. 

“--yeah, I know. And now, I’m a freelance sub. That’s really it, nothing exciting.” 

Tony doesn’t think that’s a satisfactory answer, though. “Come on, I  _ know _ you probably have some fun stories about the army. You two can swap stories about, I dunno, getting drunk on base? What do you do?”

Steve thinks about it for a second, and then recalls one of the tamer incidents that he’d had. 

“So, I had a best friend in the army, his name was also James, but we called him Bucky. And he knew a guy who ran a bar near a base down in Florida, so he got free booze  _ all the time _ . Well, what happened one night was that a few of us all snuck off base with some of Bucky’s free booze and went to the beach to drink. Someone started a campfire because it was  _ freezing cold _ , like, way colder than it should be in Florida. 

So we’re all having a good time, and then suddenly: police sirens. Probably because you’re not supposed to have a campfire on that beach., or even be on it past a certain hour So we’re all hastily rushing to put out the fire and hide from the cops, and we end up in some bushes under the stilts of someone’s beach house. By some miracle, they don’t find us, but we’re covered in dirt and sand and branches, and now we have to sneak back on base like that before our Sergeant notices we’re missing.  _ And _ we’re all drunk at this point. 

We’re sneaking back onto base, and  _ just  _ as we think we’re gonna make it: our Sergeant is there. Bucky knew that I was a sub, he was the only one I trusted with that, so while we’re getting screamed at, he whispers to me ‘just offer to suck his dick, maybe we’ll get out of this,’ and I start  _ laughing _ . In this stuck-up power-tripping Dom’s  _ face _ . 

You can imagine how well that worked out for me.” 

He takes a moment to revel in Tony and Rhodes’ shocked faces. Scandalizing Doms is one of his secret pleasures,  _ especially _ military Doms. Rhodes recovers quickly, and starts telling his  _ own _ story of how he and his wing ended up seducing an entire brothel in Germany, and how his friend Sam was nearly convinced into contracting long-term with one of the prostitutes, and suddenly the conversation flows much easier.

By the time brunch is over, Steve’s stomach is hurting from laughing so much (and from all of the pastries that Tony had insisted on feeding him), and he almost wants to ask James, who he’s on a first-name basis with now, to come back to the tower with them so they can talk more. As if reading Steve’s mind, Tony invites him over, and they all pile into the waiting limo for Tony’s driver, Happy, to take them home. 

“Okay, okay, enough about  _ our _ adorably perfect, domestic life, how are  _ you _ doing, Mr. Bachelor?” Tony asks James, and Steve listens in intently. If James doesn’t have a sub… maybe he’ll try and set one of his friends up. He’s bound to be a good Dom if he’s friends with Tony. 

“You can stop calling me that now, because I  _ met _ someone. Her name’s Carol.” 

“You’re contracted with someone named  _ Carol? _ ” 

“Yep. Last name Danvers.” Holy  _ shit _ . Colonel Carol Danvers? The daughter of  _ General Danvers?  _ Before he can stop himself, he’s interrupting their conversation. 

“I know her!” Tony and James both turn to stare at him. 

“Is this like an ‘all subs know each other’ thing?” God, Tony’s insufferable, he wouldn’t trade him for the world. 

“Colonel Danvers is a Domme, I worked with her before... y’know. And she’s  _ incredible _ .” Incredible doesn’t even begin to describe her, in Steve’s opinion. Her combat strategy was unparalleled, of course, but what made her exceptional was that even though she was in charge, she still made time to get to know everyone in her wing personally.

Tony gives James a clap on the back and says, good-naturedly, “Well, she’s got a ringing endorsement from my sub, so she’s got a ringing endorsement from me. When’s the wedding?” 

James rolls his eyes and gives Tony a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Not for a while considering we’re still on our first six-month contract. And you’re not sending a troupe of fire-dancers to our hypothetical wedding.” 

Tony laughs and teases James about throwing him and Carol the most extravagant shotgun wedding in the world as they pull into the tower’s parking garage

***

When they get back to Tony’s suite, Steve heads down to the bottom floor of the suite to do… whatever subs like to do. He makes a mental note to figure out what Steve actually  _ does _ outside of his job. Which means that Tony’s alone with his best friend, who, like any good best friend, immediately starts interrogating him. 

“What the hell, man? You get a new sub, who’s a whole  _ criminal _ by the way, and you don’t tell me? You’ve been unpaired for  _ years _ after Sunset, and now you’re taking in random SADA subs?” 

“Okay, first of all, I told you, it’s extremely new, because we met like two days ago. Natasha set me up with him, said he’d help me relax, which, honestly, she could have just booked me a spa appointment or something, but this is so much better!”

Rhodey nods along, and motions for him to continue, even though he clearly has objections. 

“Second, Steve’s been sleeping next to me for a few days now and has had ample time to steal company secrets or murder me. I took him to work and he seemed to get along fine with the other subs there.”

“You  _ took him to work with you? _ What happened to never trusting again?” 

“He’s SADA-certified! And you’re the one who keeps telling me to get out more!” It’s a lame defense, but it’s the only one that Tony has left. He doesn’t want to admit it, but Steve seems… too shaken up by his past Doms to even think about signing up to be a corporate plant. And that’s  _ before  _ the (admittedly less-than-stringent) vetting process for SADA.

Rhodey leans back into the sofa and sighs, before smiling at him softly. “You know what? I’m happy for you. I mean that. He’s cute.” 

Tony beams. Rhodey’s the only person he  _ really _ wanted to like Steve -- the press can say whatever they want, the Board of Directors can say whatever they want, but it would have  _ hurt _ if Rhodey didn’t like him. Of course, he can’t just  _ say _ that to him, so he plays it off. 

“Back off, Honeybear, he’s mine. And tell  _ Carol _ to stay away too.” The slight tinge of jealousy he’d felt when he’d heard how Steve spoke about Danvers makes him uncomfortable, but there’s no stopping it. Steve is  _ his _ sub, not Carol’s, and he needs everyone in a ten-mile radius to know that. 

Rhodey flips him off and smiles. “I need to get going. Go take care of your sub. Where’d he go?”

“Dunno. I’ll go look for him, make sure he didn’t electrocute himself down in the workshop.” 

***

Steve doesn’t know what he expected to see down in Tony’s workshop. He wanted to give James and Tony some space, since it’s clear that the two of them don’t see each other often, but he didn’t want to go into the bedroom and just… wait around for Tony. So he’d gone down to the one other room in the suite that he knows. 

The place is  _ magical _ . There’s holograms displaying multiple intricate projects, incomprehensible papers littering every surface with titles like “Bayesian Artificial Intelligence,” (that one in particular has a sticky note on it that says, in red scrawling ink, ‘WRITTEN BY A HACK’) and best of all,  _ functional pet robots _ . 

One of them has one claw and is wearing a dunce cap that displays its name: DUM-E. It brings him a little rubber duck, like it’s giving him a gift. 

“You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” He says, and the robot gives him a pleased-sounding  _ whirr-beep _ . It shouldn’t be as downright adorable as it is. DUM-E brings him another small object, a stress ball, and drops it in front of him before tilting its claw expectantly, almost like… 

“Wanna play fetch?” He asks, incredulous, and DUM-E spins around enthusiastically. He tosses the ball across the workshop, and DUM-E races to catch it. It hits the opposite wall, and knocks something down from one of the storage cabinets lining it on its descent to the floor. 

“Shit!” He hisses, and runs over to see what he knocked over, hoping it wasn’t anything important. It didn’t make any loud noise when it hit the ground, so probably nothing fragile. When he gets there, the thing turns out to be a paper bag in a pretty pastel shade, the same kind that Tony’s tailor had delivered, filled with- 

“Oh my God!” He shouts, as the bag falls to the floor. None of the gossamer-thin lingerie sets fall out, thankfully. DUM-E, despite being a robot with no visible eyes, looks at him like he’s a crazy person. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, feeling his face turn bright red. Why wouldn’t Tony  _ tell him _ about these the day they got new clothes for him? Nevermind that, how did Tony find out that he liked dressing up for his Doms? He couldn’t have talked to Brock, and he doesn’t know Bucky, so  _ how? _

DUM-E is still staring at him. “Is your dad psychic?” He asks. Being a robot, DUM-E doesn’t reply. 

Steve picks up the bag again and gives the contents a cursory look-through. He sees a corset, the lacey kind that would show off his waist, more than a few sets of garters, and delicate underwear decorated with frilly satin bows. If there’s a complete set in here… maybe he could give Tony a little show of appreciation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next Thursday (11/12/20) where we'll hopefully... know who the US president is. And Steve finally gets to put his lingerie to use.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony enjoy Steve's lingerie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing yesterday's update! I had a circuits exam which was. Not fun. Don't do engineering. 
> 
> Check out the updated rating ;)

The first problem with surprising Tony is the existence of JARVIS. Thankfully, the AI must be a closet romantic, because Steve gets him on his side with ease. 

“Hey JARVIS, you won’t tell Tony that I wanna surprise him with these, right?”

“Normally, my protocols would have me inform Sir of any ‘surprise’ immediately, but this particular one seems more than benign. I will not inform him.” 

The next challenge is sneaking past Tony himself while carrying the bag, which turns out to not be difficult either. His Dom is a complete workaholic, so of course there’s an elevator that goes from the hallway to the workshop directly to the hallway outside of the bedroom; he completely avoids seeing Tony and Rhodes.

Which brings him to the hardest thing he’s done all day: squeezing into the goddamn corset. 

His hands strain behind his back as he tries to fasten the clasps, but ends up grabbing the ribbons instead. Everything’s in the same shade of pale pink, so he has to rely on feel rather than sight. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

Objectively, he knows he looks ridiculous, with his corset half-done and unlaced, garters not connected to the bodice with the straps hanging limply, and the bows lacing up the sides of his underwear becoming more and more crooked as he struggles. But he still gets a thrill at the sight of himself. He knows what he’s  _ supposed  _ to look like, and even imagining it sends a thrill down from the back of his neck to the base of his cock. 

His clumsy fingers finally find some purchase on the next hook, and he’s fiddling with his opposite hand, trying to find the eyelet that the hook is supposed to go through, when he hears the door to the bedroom open. 

“--Steve! Where are you, I-- oh my God.” Tony stumbles slightly, leans against the door as his eyes rake over Steve’s body. The sudden attention from his Dom, who’s spent the past few days convincing Steve that he doesn’t even  _ have _ a libido, makes him turn scarlet. The lingerie, which had looked a light orchid against his fair skin, suddenly looks a washed-out shade of off-white.

He’s torn between telling Tony to get the hell out of the bedroom and asking Tony to help him with the corset because  _ goddamnit he lost the hook-- _

“I can’t get it on,” he sighs, giving up and sitting on the bed. Tony composes himself, walks over to the other side of the bed, behind Steve, and starts helping him with the corset. 

“I was worried you’d hate that I got you these, but I guess that was stupid of me,” Tony says softly, finishing the top clasp and starting the tightlacing. It _barely_ counts as tightlacing, though, and Steve wants more. Wants Tony to make him feel it. 

As if reading his mind, Tony says “Oh no, we’re not lacing this any tighter. Not for what I want to do to you.” Steve’s breath hitches as Tony switches sides of the bed again, pulling him to his feet and securing the garters in place. After, he redoes the laces on the sides of Steve’s underwear, tying them in neat bows. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“Telling you would ruin the surprise. I want you to lie back and relax for me, can you do that?”

Steve nods, and Tony says, sharper than Steve’s ever heard him, “Use your words.” 

“Yes, Sir.” A visible shiver goes through Tony when Steve says those two words. Steve lies down on the bed, face up, and spreads his legs. The bedsheets slide pleasantly against the silk stockings.  _ Real silk! Not the nylon crap they hand out at SADA!  _ He thinks to himself. 

Tony leans over him for a second and kisses his forehead. “Tell me your safeword.” 

“It’s ‘skyline,’ Sir,” Steve says, already feeling the hazy fog of subspace come over him. He’s floating pleasantly, not all the way down yet, but getting there fast. 

Tony kisses him again, and then palms Steve’s cock roughly through the lace of his panties. The sensation is dizzying, it makes him gasp and arch up into the touch. As punishment, hiis Dom bites the side of his neck, sucking until there’s no way there won’t be a mark. 

“Stay down,” Tony orders, and Steve whines slightly, but stills, trying to control his breathing.

Tony moves down, trailing his fingers across Steve’s chest, stroking and pinching his nipples until they’re fully erect. 

“A-ah, Sir,  _ please! _ ” He begs, not even knowing what he wants, barely coherent. 

Tony ignores him in favor of pulling at the laces of his panties and tugging them out of the way, leaving Steve’s hard cock exposed and leaking. Tony strokes him once, twice, and Steve bucks up into his palm, chasing the friction. That gets his nipples pinched, and a condescending “What did I tell you to do, Steve?” 

“T-to stay down.” That gets him a swat on the ass, so he corrects it to “You said to stay down, Sir.” 

“And did you?” Tony looks completely unaffected by Steve’s state, and it’s not fair. He’s still in his gray suit, his hair is only slightly-tousled, and the  _ only  _ sign that he’s been participating is his slacks tenting.

“No, Sir.” He’s so hard, it hurts. 

“Do you want your punishment now or later?”

Steve whimpers. He doesn’t want to  _ choose _ , why can’t  _ Tony _ make the hard decisions for him? His Dom takes pity on him, though, petting his side soothingly. 

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll pick. We’ll do it now, and then you’re gonna be a good boy for the rest of the day, alright?”

Steve nods. He can take it. 

Tony leaves him for a few seconds, retreating into the walk-in closet. There’s a whir, and a noise like something heavy shifting, and then Tony comes back with a riding crop. 

“On your knees.” Steve scrambles to obey him, not wanting to incur a harsher punishment. Tony presses a hand to his back, forces his chest onto the bed so that his ass and thighs are elevated.

“I want you to count for me, okay? Ten strikes to start with, and we’ll start over if you make a mistake.”

“Yes, Sir--” he gasps in shock when he feels the first strike of the crop against his left cheek. He barely holds in a moan, and angles his ass higher, seeking another hit. In a last-minute moment of clarity, he remembers to count. 

“One,” he says, shakily. 

Hits two, three, four, and five all come quickly, parallel to each other, moving from left to right. He counts them off, biting down on his louder gasps and moans. Hit six, however, taps against his balls, and he cries out in pain, almost forgetting to count. 

“Didn’t like that one, did you?” Tony asks, feigning sweetness. 

Steve whines in response, before asking, “Again, Sir?” 

Tony obliges with three more strikes, hitting his balls with precision and force. Each tap makes his eyes water and his throat constrict, which only makes it harder to count them out; it  _ hurts _ , and he wants  _ more _ . 

“Last one, dear. You did so good for me,” Tony says, caressing Steve’s ass fondly. Strike ten hits him across the backs of his thighs, and he yelps out his “Ten,” in surprise before shirking away from the sensation. The motion makes him realize that he’s painfully hard and desperate to come. 

The crop gets thrown to the floor. Tony coaxes him to flip over, and Steve splays his legs without any coordination. He can feel tears running down his face, and he knows that he looks like a mess. “Sir?  _ Please _ let me come. Please.”

Instead of responding, Tony takes Steve’s cock into his mouth and sucks. Steve cries out, bucking frantically, but Tony’s strong hands hold his hips against the bed. He’s pinned down, unable to move, as Tony’s lips touch the base of his pelvis and Steve’s cock hits the back of Tony’s throat. 

Steve’s openly sobbing as Tony’s head bobs up and down, pulling him closer and closer to orgasm, but he  _ can’t come _ , he needs permission, he needs Tony to tell him, to give him permission. 

His Dom pulls off of his cock with an obscenely-wet  _ pop _ . “Come for me, honey,” he says, swallowing Steve back down to the root. 

Steve comes, and the world goes white and blurry around the edges.

***

Steve’s subspace is stunning, Tony thinks, as he swallows Steve’s come. He sees his sub go limp and pliant afterwards, trembling slightly. 

“Sir?” Steve asks, voice rough. His face is streaky with tears, and there are red lines on his cheeks from being pressed into the pillows. 

“What would you like, Steve?” He asks, grabbing cream and a box of face wipes from the bathroom. The wipes were something that he’d asked JARVIS to order for Steve in case he needed them. Apparently they’re ‘infused with rosewater and vitamin E’, for ‘brightening and anti-aging’. Products for subs are  _ so goddamn weird _ . 

“Please stay,” Steve pleads when Tony comes back. It strikes him, not for the first time, just how young and vulnerable Steve really is. How fragile.  __

“Of course, love. I’m right here.” He wipes the tears from Steve’s face, trying to soothe the angry red marks. They don’t visibly look to be doing anything, but his sub seems to appreciate the attention. 

Steve lets out a few content gasps and moans as Tony cleans him up and starts to take off the lingerie, delicately stripping it away from his body and setting it aside. He really only protests when Tony goes for his collar, whining at him and turning away from Tony’s hands. 

“Steve,” he starts, almost not believing what he’s seeing. This is… this is a porn scenario! This doesn’t happen in real life! Subs don’t  _ actually _ ask to keep their collars on after a scene. 

“Can I keep it on?” Steve asks him, with bright blue eyes on the verge of tears, and  _ fuck _ , Tony’s not enough of a sadist to say no. 

“Of course you can. Let me know if you want me to take it off, okay?” Steve nods, and then promptly ducks underneath the covers, bundling himself up warmly. Right back to being a brat, just how Tony likes him. He laughs softly, and lets Steve get comfy while he changes into a robe and checks the time. It’s barely past seven o’clock. Not even time for bed, but Steve needs the rest after a scene like that. 

“JARVIS, pull up anything that doesn’t need me in the workshop.” He climbs into bed with Steve, who cuddles up against him, putting his head in Tony’s lap. Four holograms of urgent emails surround him. 

“There’s the quarterly fiscal report that Ms. Potts asked you to review, as well as the vendor plans for the winter gala. On the non-business side, you have two pending calls for abstracts, one for a convention in Geneva and the other for a convention in Tokyo.” 

Ugh, finance, that’s someone else’s job. And  _ ew _ , academia, he served his time back in the 80s. 

“Gimme the vendor plans. Do you think any of these pretentious assholes would notice if we just had like, Burger King cater? But we just cut up the burgers and called them modernized German-style canapes?” 

“I cannot say for certain, Sir, but I advise against it.” Spoilsport. 

“Okay, but what if we asked some middle school orchestra to come in and play the music. Do you think they’d notice that?” 

“Most definitely, Sir.” God, it’s like planning a fucking wedding. 

“You’re no fun. Tell Pepper that I want Le Bernardin there, but not with actual meals, with the tasting menu.” 

“As always, Sir, your creativity and inventiveness for acts of petty revenge knows no bounds.” 

He flicks away the holograms, and despite himself, he feels his eyes getting heavier. Pulling the covers over him, he falls asleep to the sound of Steve’s even breathing, holding his submissive close to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony have a moment, and then the day takes a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, apologies for missing last week. The end of the semester is coming up for me, so it's getting difficult to balance writing and schoolwork.
> 
> Second, you probably noticed the "Minor Violence" tag added! I personally don't think it's too bad, but read with caution!
> 
> Third, if you're attached to Steve and want to see him have good things, um. Stay tuned?

Steve wakes up and thinks to himself, “today’s going to be a good day.” 

Then he thinks, “what the fuck?” because he has  _ never _ woken up in that good of a mood before. 

It all makes sense when he sees Tony, though. He’d fallen asleep in his Dom’s arms, which is a complete first for him. Last night was  _ incredible _ . He’s been down before, of course, but never that deep, and never with a Dom whose priority was him and his pleasure. 

The clock says six a.m., which means he’s two hours before he starts his morning jog, so he decides, fuck it, since we’re leaning into sub stereotypes today, let’s play house-sub and cook Tony breakfast. 

He pulls on a pair of boxers, leaves his collar on, and heads to the kitchen with the intention of making his Dom the best breakfast in the world. Something to say “thank you for Domming me so hard that I cried and also sorry for thinking you were a piece of shit before I met you.” 

Of course, that’s when he remembers that Tony has no food in his kitchen. He’s been  _ over _ this before, Jesus. But he still wants to try, so he does his best with what he has. 

The ‘Powerful Yogurt for Powerful Doms’ in Tony’s fridge is blueberry acai flavored, and there’s still some granola cereal in his cabinet, so he tosses together a quick parfait. The man at least keeps a carton of eggs in the fridge, and a few containers of single-serving butter from hotel breakfast bars, so he whips up a French omelette. After that, it’s just a matter of waiting for the coffee to be ready, and suddenly he’s made a pretty passable thank-you breakfast. 

He heads back upstairs and into the bedroom, where Tony’s awake and sitting up in bed. 

“Brought you breakfast,” Steve says in lieu of a greeting. 

Tony flinches, looking at him like he’s got a gun to his head. “You-- you don’t need to put up this act, Steve.” 

That’s… not what Steve expected to say. He sets the breakfast down on the end table. Looks like their romantic morning-after will have to wait. 

“Sir? Tony?” he asks, not sure what he’s done wrong. 

“I know I pushed you too hard last night. I took everything way too far. I’m… a lot. Even for a Dom, I’m a lot. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.” Steve knows exactly what’s going on, but he has no idea what to do. 

He’s  _ heard  _ of Dom-drop before, but he’s never seen it happen. Brock had never been invested enough in the sex for that to be a problem, and the only other Doms he’s been around have been his friends and teammates, not his partners.

All he knows is that what Tony’s going through, if Reddit is to be believed, is just as intense as sub drop, but with much less research done on its long-term effects and treatments. Before the 1980s, Dom-drop wasn’t even considered  _ real _ . And talking about it is still taboo, even as suicide rates for Doms increase year after year. 

The thought of  _ that _ makes Steve’s blood run cold, so he acts on instinct. Climbs into Tony’s arms, relaxes into his chest, and does what subs are supposed to do best: reassure and comfort. Tony stiffens at the contact, and tries to get away, but Steve’s stronger, so he keeps his hold on his Dom’s torso despite his protests. 

“You didn’t push me too far. Didn’t you hear me? I was begging for it. And I had my safeword.”

“You were in subspace,” Tony scoffs, “You had no idea what you were saying.” 

Steve’s hackles rise at that, and he moves out of Tony’s arms. How fucking  _ presumptious  _ can one person get?

“I knew  _ exactly _ what I was saying, because I’m a complete person with my own wants and needs, not a fleshlight with legs for you and your dick, you--”

“When did I say that you weren’t a complete person?” Tony cuts him off. There’s an edge of irritation in Tony’s voice, like he doesn’t want to be dealing with an uppity, bratty submissive when he’s in the middle of dropping. Steve keeps pushing, though. He can’t be Tony’s sub, wear his collar, when Tony doesn’t trust him to know his own boundaries.

“When you said that I didn’t know what I was saying. This arrangement goes two ways, I can terminate this contract just as quickly as you can.”   
  
“Tell me, Steve, would you have safeworded? Let’s assume, hypothetically, that you’re right, and that I didn’t push you too hard. If I  _ had  _ crossed a line, would you have safeworded?” 

“Yes, you idiot, because I know what I like and what I don’t better than you do!” 

That makes Tony’s mouth click shut, but leaves him grumbling and looking like he still wants to argue.  _ Such _ a Dom, always needs to have the last word. 

“I don’t know what you’re going through, but please, talk to me. I don’t want you to feel guilty over the best scene I’ve ever had.” Steve  _ needs _ Tony to return the level of trust he has for him. They can’t function otherwise. 

Tony gives a little laugh at that. “Really? Best scene you’ve ever had?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. Again,  _ such a Dom _ . “Cocky isn’t a good look on you.” 

“So much backtalk this morning. I should break out the riding crop again.” 

“Eat your breakfast, Tony.” Steve gingerly picks up the platter from the end table and steals a bite of the omelette. It’s a little cold, but it tastes fine. 

“Did you use that weird yogurt that Rhodey likes to make this?” Tony says when he takes a bite of the parfait.

“Maybe. Was I not supposed to touch it?” 

“Oh no, nothing like that. I was gonna throw it out if I didn’t figure out a way to use it soon. I think he started buying it ironically, but now he actually likes the stuff. Who’s supposed to be the target demographic for this stuff?”

“Doms who think their breakfast is the reason they can’t get laid?”

Tony laughs again, fuller and more sure of himself, and Steve thinks that this morning’s crisis has been averted. 

***

Tony’s in his workshop, trying to get a prototype of a miniature generator to work, when Pepper video calls him and asks him if he has a date to the winter charity gala, or if she needs to arrange something with some society darling. 

“Hmm? I was just gonna take Steve. I think it’d be good for him, maybe he can meet some other subs and make friends.” 

In response, he gets an ear-piercing  _ who the hell is Steve?  _ And that’s when he realizes that he hasn’t introduced the two of them. He’d thought that he’d forgotten something. 

“So you remember Natalie, right?”

“Hazelnut creamer-Natalie, kept flirting with the temps-Natalie, or left to work for the government-Natalie?”

“The last one. Turns out: her name’s not actually Natalie! It’s Natasha, and she was a straight-up spy.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Don’t worry about it! Everything’s fine, we’re friends now, we text. Well, she got me a sub from SADA because she could tell I was stressed, that’s Steve, and well, we’re getting along, so I was thinking that I’d just… bring him.”

“Oh, that’s adorable! Well, I hope you let me take him out for gala clothes shopping and some media training soon.”

“Pep, I didn’t take you for a hardline sadist,” he says, just to hear her laugh, before adding, “he has clothes, I made sure of that,” not even trying to hide the defensiveness in his voice. He knows how to care for Steve, he doesn’t need another Dom to do that for him. 

“Anthony Edward Stark, was that you being  _ possessive?  _ Over what, a thirty-day contract?” She’s always been quick to call him out on his bullshit. He should have known better than to get like that with her, really. Even when he’d been actively seeking out subs, she’d never tried to take any of them from him. 

(Though Lord knows she could have). 

“...And if it was?”

“Nothing. Just that he must be very attractive and I’m sure you two will look good on a red carpet together.” 

That, impossibly, makes him even  _ more _ defensive. “He’s not- It’s not just about his looks! He’s  _ funny _ , he’s a damn brat when he wants to be, he’s smart, too, has a degree and everything, and he’s just… he’s sweet. Too sweet for this gala, which is why I need you to make sure he gets a chaperone, by the way.” 

Chaperones are an old custom, he knows, but it’s for the best. He’s terrified to leave Steve unattended at one of these things. He has nightmare scenarios of his sub finding some other rich, handsome Dom who’s a good couple of decades younger than Tony and running off with him. Or the  _ worse  _ option, some other rich, handsome Dom who’s a couple of decades  _ older _ than Tony noticing an unattended sub and deciding that he could use a new toy. 

“Chaperone? This is from the same Dom who tells interviewers that subs, let me quote, ‘don’t need to be hustled from cushy sitting room to cushy sitting room by roided-up assholes’?” Pepper’s calm, reasonable voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Christ, Pep, I’m not being a hypocrite, I just don’t want him alone with everyone. I need to have someone there who he can rely on, in case I’m busy.”

“I didn’t take you for a traditionalist,” she says, and that’s a _low_ fucking blow. Howard was the traditionalist, _not_ him. 

“It’s not about being a traditionalist! It’s about protecting him from all possible sources of harm, because he’s, um,” and now he’s talked himself into a corner. 

“He’s what, Tony? Too delicate? How do you think he’d feel about that?” She has him beat. Steve had  _ just _ talked to him about this, the whole ‘trust goes both ways’ thing. Time to put up or shut up. 

“Nope, yeah, I see what you mean. But what if they’re mean to him? I mean, come on, this isn’t me stereotyping, you  _ know _ that these society subs are catty.”

Pepper laughs at him. “I spent the last few minutes looking up your loverboy, by the way. Lovely to know that the one sub you like is a felon.”

“There were extenuating circumstances, I’m planning on bribing a judge to get that expunged.” 

“Still, though, army captain, I think he can handle a couple of gossipy debutantes. And whatever else comes his way.” Pepper had been thinking of the same things that he had, no doubt. 

A stubborn part of him wants to yell  _ ‘But he shouldn’t have to!’ _ , but he concedes. “No chaperone, but I’ll have Happy there on guard duty.” 

Pepper rolls her eyes at him fondly, “I would hope so. You also need a bodyguard, Mr. ‘five-assassiation-attempts-last-quarter,’ I’m not letting you forget that.” 

“Hey, that’s down from this time last year! We were at fifteen, right?”

“The fact that you consider that an improvement is terrifying and sad, you know that, right? You’re aware?” She frowns. 

Tony gives her one of his trademark grins, which makes her frown deepen. “If Steve will be fine, I’ll be fine.” 

“I sure hope so, Tony. And send him over to me tomorrow, we’re going gala shopping and I’m sitting him down with PR.”

***

If Steve was afraid of Tony the first time he met him, Virginia “just call me Pepper” Potts makes him wish he was never born. Why can’t Tony’s friends be… not-terrifying? It must be something they teach at Fancy Dom Academy or wherever they all went to school, because there’s no way it’s a coincidence. 

“Now I don’t know what Tony’s lied to you about, but the 90s Armani collection is ugly and you’re not wearing anything from it. He can get as mad as he wants, we’re not putting you in an oversized blazer.” 

“Um. We don’t really talk about clothes?” He knows a little about fashion, he went to art school, but not enough to be discerning about what to wear to something like this. 

They’re on Fifth Avenue, which is exactly as hoity-toity as Steve imagined it’d be, inside the Armani store for a private fitting. The store attendants constantly buzz around them like flies, and talk exclusively with Pepper, ignoring him, which is both a relief and an insult. 

Pepper hasn’t responded to him, currently engaged in specifying exactly what ties she wants to see, and in what colors and patterns. It’s all a blur, but soon Steve is shoved into a fitting room with three identical-looking blue suits.

The first is made of a heavy, navy-blue wool that honestly seems perfect for a New York winter. They haven’t had their first snow yet, but it’s bound to happen soon. When he tries to check the jacket for a price tag, he finds none. It must be one of those “if you have to ask…” places. 

The second is also wool, but this one has  _ six _ buttons instead of two. It honestly seems excessive, which is why he immediately decides that he’s not getting that one. 

The last one is his favorite. It’s still navy blue, still wool, but has the most  _ subtle _ dark red pinstripe, it’s so faint that he had to look at it a few times to make sure he was seeing it correctly. The thing that draws him to it is that it’ll match his collar, which isn’t usually something that weighs on him too often, but… he’s picturing it. Picturing looking like he  _ belongs  _ to Tony, and it makes his gut roil with a mixture of pride and lust, tinged with the smallest bit of shame. 

_ God _ , what is he doing? He’s in public! He’s not even  _ with _ Tony right now, and he’s what? Getting aroused by the thought of a well-coordinated outfit? That matches something his Dom picked out for him? Jesus, could he  _ act _ like more of a sub? 

And that particular piece of self-loathing catches him. He knows he shouldn’t think that it’s  _ bad _ to want to submit, to be seen as someone’s submissive and shown off. But he can’t help it, it’s one of the nasty carryovers he got from Brock and still hasn’t let go of. 

***

_ “God, you’re so fucking needy. It’s a wonder nobody’s found out you’re a little sub bitch yet, huh, Rogers?” Brock hisses into his ear as he thrusts in and out of Steve’s aching hole. His face is pressed into the mattress, and his hands are tied to the bedframe with zip ties.  _

_ He’d gone into subspace a while ago, and every word that Brock says to him cuts deep, makes itself a part of him. He hears himself moan as Brock pulls out, and then shoves his cock back into him, rough and uncoordinated. He shudders as he feels Brock finish inside of him. He’s suddenly cold and clammy all over, and acutely aware of how soaked in sweat the cheap boxspring beneath him is. _

_ “Sir?” He asks, hazy. He tugs at the zip ties. He hopes Brock won’t leave him tied up again. The spare room in Brock’s apartment that they use as a playroom is horrible. It’s windowless, and Brock makes him sleep alone after scenes, so when it gets dark, he can’t see or hear or feel anything.  _

_ “Would you stop  _ whining?  _ Jesus, I’m untying you, lemme get my knife.” This was Steve’s least favorite part. He knew, logically, that Brock wouldn’t actually hurt him. But there was always that small part of him that thought… what if. It set him on edge, made him want to shake off the subspace too fast and risk dropping, just so he could be ready. In case Brock tried anything.  _

_ As usual, Brock cuts the ties with cold efficiency. Doesn’t touch Steve for longer than he needs to. No offer of comfort, no soothing fingers down his back, nothing. Because he doesn’t want Steve to be needy. That’s Steve’s problem, he’s always so needy, always asking for too much--  _

_ “Are you crying? What’s wrong with you? Every night, I get the waterworks. Calm down, for fuck’s sake.” God, he’s really made him mad tonight. Usually if he cries, Brock at least stays with him for a few minutes. This time, Brock just shuts the door, a little harsher than strictly necessary.  _

_ It feels like a breaking point.  _

***

Steve shakes himself. Pepper is waiting for him. He needs to change. And Tony’s different from Brock, he won’t mind if he shows off. Hell, Tony’s  _ possessive _ of him, he’d gotten him a new collar. Brock would have never done that, even if Steve  _ hadn’t  _ been hiding his orientation.

He rushes out of the fitting room, clutching the suit he’s picked. If Pepper thinks he’s acting weird, she doesn’t show it, just hands one of the attendants a credit card and tells Steve that they have a meeting to get to.

They walk out of the store with the promise that the suit will be tailored to Steve’s liking a week before the gala, and head back to Stark Industries for his sit-down with PR. He doesn’t know what they really need to talk about, but Pepper had insisted and Tony had agreed with her and, well, anything to make his Dom happy. 

Which is how he finds himself in a conference room with five switches, two Doms, and very, very noticeably, no subs. Alone, because Pepper only has so much spare time during her day. All of them are chattering away when he walks in a few minutes late, but once he gets there, all conversation dies down and the room falls into an awkward silence. 

“Well, I guess we’ll get started then,” says one of the switches when the silence drags on for five painful seconds. A projector screen descends from the ceiling and a presentation titled “Press Event Etiquette” starts. One of the Doms gets up, taking charge of the room, and starts talking. 

“Alright Mr. Rogers, my name’s Eric Thorne, I’m the head of Mr. Stark’s PR department. I understand that you’re new to this, so we’ve prepared a short seventy-five slide walkthrough of expected behavior at this event.” 

Steve giggles slightly. This wouldn’t be so bad, they were even joking around during a dry, mandatory meeting. 

Thorne, though, scowls at him. “I don’t see how this is a laughing matter. If you’re going to keep up this behavior, I recommend that you inform Mr. Stark that you won’t be attending.”

Steve nearly gets out of his chair to yell at this asshole, who does he think he is, talking to him like that, but one of the switches, Janine, he thinks, grabs him by the shoulder, shoves him back down into the chair and whispers to him. 

“Eric’s always kind of a dickbag, just let it go.” 

Thorne smirks at him as he hunches his shoulders and gets ready to listen in. This better be good. 

“After that display, it looks like we’ll need to review slides thirty-five through forty-nine  _ extra _ carefully, Mr. Rogers. I hope you learn to control your outbursts sometime in the next few days.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. Nevermind, clearly this is going to be  _ hell _ . 

***

He was absolutely right, it was hell. But it only took about two hours, and now he can go home to Tony and complain about it. Thorne, as promised, went over the “public conduct” slides as slowly and as patronizingly as possible. Asshole. 

He’s waiting by the water fountain for Pepper or Tony to pick him up when, speak of the Devil, Thorne approaches him. 

“Look, Steven, can I call you Steven?” Ugh, great. One of  _ these _ conversations.

“No.” He can tell exactly what kind of Dom this Thorne guy is from a single sentence, and he wants no part of it. 

“Come on, honey, don’t be frigid.” Red flag one. “I know I was a jerk back there, but let me make it up to you.” Red flag two. “Can I get you some coffee? I swear I’m a nice guy usually.” Red flag three. 

“I’m not interested, sorry.” He’s tried the whole ‘play nice and maybe they’ll leave you alone’ thing and it’s never worked. Plus, he honestly just doesn’t feel like being nice to Thorne at all. 

“Look, okay, I’m gonna level with you. We’ve all heard the rumors that Stark’s a shit Dom. Like, I only work for the guy, and I know he’s a shit Dom. I can’t imagine what he’s like with you.” 

Steve tenses up. Are Tony’s own employees, his own  _ public relations _ department, accusing him of the same rumors that he’d read about in the Everheart memoir? Surely these would be the exact people that would defend him from something like that, even if the rumors were true (which is a possibility that he hasn’t ruled out, no matter how kind Tony is to him). 

He’s about to protest when Thorne continues with, “I mean, he's  _ soft _ . He doesn’t dole out pain like a sub needs. Like  _ you _ need. Come on, lemme take you for a spin, show you how a real Dom runs a scene.” 

...Oh. Of course Thorne was saying that Tony was too nice. Why would he expect any different? Steve rolls his eyes for what feels like the millionth time that day. 

“I told you, I’m not interested. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m waiting for Tony.” He moves to extricate himself from between Thorne and the wall, and to text Tony that he’ll be waiting in the breakroom, when Thorne grabs his arm. 

“Listen here, slut--” and that’s all Steve needs to hear before he winds his free hand back and clocks Thorne in the face. 

There’s a horrible, wet crunch of cartilage and bone. Thorne screams as he falls to the ground, which draws the attention of just about everyone on the floor. There’s a flurry of footsteps from all directions, and now they’ve drawn a crowd. Steve shakes out the hand he’d used to punch the other man, and tries to step delicately away from the scene, but he’s hemmed in by the crowd he’s drawn.

He sees Tony, who’s looking more alarmed by the minute, and rushes towards him. The collar around his throat feels tight and constricting, and he feels like he might cry. Or panic. 

“ _ STARK!”  _ Thorne yells, and Tony steps forward and helps Thorne to his feet. Tony looks between Thorne and him, and the mental calculus that Tony is doing to figure out what the hell happened is visible on his face. 

“You need to discipline your submissive,” Thorne says, as he glares at Steve. “You’re way too lax with him. It’s going to get you in trouble, and my department can only handle so much.”

Tony’s expression goes hard and unreadable. “I’ll make sure he’s seen to. JARVIS, get an ambulance for Eric. Steve, with me. Everyone else, back to your jobs.  _ Now _ .” 

Steve can feel himself trembling as he follows Tony into the elevator, but he’s not afraid. Tony won’t hurt him, he’s safe. He’ll explain what the context was and then they’ll get to go to bed together. 

“I’m so glad you came when you did-” he starts, as the elevator doors close. 

“Steve, do I look like I’m in the mood for an explanation?” Tony asks. That’s… not at all what he expected. He expected concern, a few comforting words, not abject dismissal. 

“I-” He tries again. Tony needs to hear this, he  _ hates _ power-tripping asshole Doms like Thorne, and if he’d heard what Thorne said about him he’d understand. 

“I don’t want to hear it. Get to our bedroom and kneel by the foot of the bed. I have too many things to get done right now to deal with you, but rest assured, it’ll happen tonight. I’m livid, in case you can’t tell.” 

Steve’s blood runs cold. Had he miscalculated? Tony doesn’t understand, he wasn’t there to see what Thorne was implying, he  _ needs _ to know! The elevator dings as they arrive at Tony’s suite, and they both step out, Steve a few steps behind his Dom. 

“Tony, please, the things he said about you--”

“What part of ‘I don’t want to hear it’ do you not understand? That’s ten.” 

Steve swallows. The tremors he’d been feeling come back in full force. “Ten what?” 

“You’ll find out. Go to the bedroom. Do not make me repeat myself.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Steven <3 See you next week :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets punished, and then talks are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance! Nobody has a good time this chapter! Least of all the author!

Steve doesn’t know how long he’s been kneeling for. It could have been hours, it could have been a few minutes. He stays on his knees, silent, head bent forward and hands folded in his lap, and lets the events of the day replay in his mind.  _ Shit.  _ He’d punched someone in public. He’d punched a  _ Dom _ in public. A sleazebag of a Dom who had it coming, but… 

There was no way around it. This was going to come back around to Tony. It already had; Thorne had told him that Tony was too soft, that Steve needed to be taught a lesson. And if Tony didn’t, then it would reflect on both of them; it would make Tony look like the kind of Dom who didn’t care about his sub enough to properly discipline him, and it made Steve look like the kind of sub who’d be a liability: to any potential Doms and to SADA.

“Fuck, my  _ job _ . I didn’t think about my  _ job _ .” He hisses under his breath. God, if SADA finds out he’s had an incident like this, they’ll fire him right away. And being dismissed from SADA after getting kicked out of the Army would make him lose what little he had left. 

He still thinks Thorne had it coming. There’s no doubt in his mind that Tony will, too. But whatever Tony has planned for him needs to happen.

Accepting that doesn’t mean that he’s any less terrified, though. 

It’s like his first day at the Tower all over again. He doesn’t know what to expect. Tony had said  _ ten _ , but ten what? Ten slaps to his ass with a paddle? Ten cracks of a whip? Ten minutes on a vibrator? What did he  _ mean? _

The anxiety has him biting his lip until it’s red and raw, bleeding in spots, and picking at his cuticles until they’re barely there anymore. His collar starts to feel tight around his throat, and he tries taking in deeper breaths, but that just makes him more acutely aware of how fast his heart is beating. He tries to take the collar off when he feels himself get lightheaded, but his uncoordinated fingers can’t find the buckle, which just makes him panic harder--

“Steve?” He looks up, pausing his fumbling with the buckle, and sees Tony leaning against the frame of the door. Immediately, his hands snap back to his lap and he bows his head again. 

“Sir.” All he has to do is survive ten of something, and he’d be done. Hopefully. He still doesn’t know what his Dom will want, but he’s too scared to ask. 

“What’s your safeword?”

“Skyline, Sir.”

“Good. Get up, strip, and then lie on the bed, face up, knees bent.” 

Steve scrambles to comply, and in his haste to get his shirt off, loses a couple of buttons. He watches them roll underneath the bed helplessly. Tony  _ tsks  _ at him, and says “You really don’t want to make this easy on yourself, huh? That’s another five. You’ve got fifteen now.” 

He’d already been half a second away from crying, but hearing Tony say that tips him over the edge. He covers his mouth to try and muffle the sobs, but it doesn’t do much except make him look even more ridiculous. Tony, uncharacteristically, doesn’t react. He just sighs, and tells Steve, “I’m waiting. Don’t draw this out.” 

He holds back another cry as he goes to the bed and presents himself to Tony. He’s completely soft, and he wants to beg,  _ please don’t hurt me, please,  _ but he knows, deep down, it would get him nowhere. He’s fucked up, and Tony’s going to ensure that he learns his lesson. 

“Steve, I need you to know that I don’t enjoy taking time out of my day to discipline you. And I especially don’t enjoy it when the reason for that is you causing trouble in public.” Tony strokes Steve’s cock lazily, absentmindedly, watching Steve slowly harden. He can feel himself shaking,  _ again _ . He doesn’t know what Tony’s planning, what he’s racked up fifteen of, and he just hopes that the other man has a gentle hand with a whip or paddle. 

  
  


“I reviewed the security footage of that, by the way. I think you’ll be happy to know that we have an opening for the head of PR.” If Tony had seen what Thorne was doing, then maybe he’d go easier on him. Maybe he’d only have to endure whatever the original  _ ten _ was, or maybe he wouldn’t be getting punished at all. 

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you need to learn self-control. Restraint.” Tony tightens a pair of leather cuffs around his wrists, and hangs the connecting chain on a hook at the top of the headboard that he hadn’t noticed before. With the new angle, he has a perfect view of Tony’s hand wrapping around his cock and stroking him to hardness. 

He tries to buck up into Tony’s hand, aching to climax, but instead Tony draws his hand back and gives him an amused look. “Jesus, we really needed this lesson, didn’t we? You’re up to twenty.” 

Steve turns his head to see Tony go to the bedside drawer and pull out a cock ring. As he locks the metal ring around the base of Steve’s cock, he can’t help but feel that maybe this punishment won’t be so bad, and that he was worried for nothing.

Then the thing starts to vibrate. 

His body turns into a live wire; he bucks up, yells, thrashes, tugs at his cuffs, but it’s no use, there’s no way out. He just has to lie there and take whatever Tony decides to do to him. 

“JARVIS, give me a timer, twenty minutes. After that, turn the vibrations off. And Steve, heads or tails?”

He barely hears Tony, but he grinds out a “tails, why?” before tossing his head back against the headboard and moaning embarrassingly loud. 

“Damn, you win. I’ll get you a gag.” Tony sounds disappointed as he fishes around their bedside drawer again and pulls out a red ball gag. Steve willingly accepts it, letting Tony tighten the strap around his neck. He’s crying again, painfully hard and unable to jerk off or come. The gag stops some of his more embarrassing noises, and also keeps him from begging Tony to take the ring off. 

“Twenty minutes, love. Well, eighteen and a half, now.” Tony kisses his forehead, then his nose, then the side of his mouth, avoiding the gag. His Dom climbs into bed beside him, grabs a remote, and the wall opens up to reveal a gigantic TV, just like it had in the living room. 

“Any preferences?” Tony asks him, sarcasm clear in his voice. When all Steve does is cant his hips up in search of friction that isn’t there, Tony huffs out a laugh and puts on some… documentary on Russian literature. That’s in  _ Russian _ . He gives Tony a glare, which makes him laugh more. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, boring. But a friend recommended it to me. You’d like her.” 

Tony runs his hands over Steve’s chest, pinching his nipples occasionally, while the documentary plays. It’s distracting, but the distraction is welcome if it means he doesn’t have to focus on how hard he is. He whines, once, wanting Tony to take the cock ring off, to fuck him, do  _ something _ , but all he gets is a “JARV, add another five minutes to Steve’s timer.” 

This is going to be the longest twenty-five minutes of his life. 

***

As promised, the cock ring shuts off after thirty-five minutes. It would have been twenty-five, but he couldn’t help begging a couple more times. When it shuts off, he slumps against the headboard, wrecked beyond belief. He’s still painfully hard, but he doubts Tony will do anything about it. 

His Dom takes out his gag and removes the handcuffs, and Steve slides down, letting his head hit the pillow that’s waiting for him. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, not really sure what he’s apologizing for

“For punching that idiot or being a menace that I can’t take anywhere?” Tony asks, amused. 

“Being a menace, obviously.” Steve scowls at him. Tony  _ saw _ the footage! Thorne was being pushy and a creep. 

“Good. I’m gonna make sure nothing like that ever happens again, but on the off chance it does, you  _ tell JARVIS _ , okay? He’ll get you out of there safely.” Tony pats his cheek and turns back to the documentary.

“Yes, Sir,” he says, contrite. He pulls the blanket over himself and joins Tony in watching the most boring movie he’s ever seen. He can’t help but push Tony’s buttons, though, because a few minutes in, he’s cuddled up to him and pressing chaste (for now) kisses along his neck. 

“Steve. Don’t push me,” Tony says, low and dangerous and  _ dominant _ . God, he’s never been like this with Steve before! He’s always so gentle with him, but tonight, it must have been the thrill of doling out a punishment that’s gotten his Dom so on-edge. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, biting the shell of Tony’s ear and moving his hand onto Tony’s inner thigh. 

Tony grabs the front of his collar and tugs him forward, so that he’s situated in Tony’s lap. He kisses him roughly, then says, “Behave, or I’ll tie you up again. Do you want that?” 

Steve ruts against him, hard and leaking already. He’s already been denied for so long today, he’s desperate. “Yes,” he says. 

“Goddamnit, I shouldn’t have asked that. Focus on the documentary, they’re talking about Nabokov’s butterfly collection.” 

He whines at him, still wanting some kind of release, and Tony looks… less than impressed with his behavior. “You’re not getting an orgasm tonight, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. We’re going to finish watching this documentary that my friend Natasha so kindly recommended to me, and we’re going to  _ sleep _ . In the morning, we’re going to have a talk about what I expect from you at the gala. Is that clear?”

Steve nods dejectedly, and lies down in Tony’s lap. The solid warmth of his Dom underneath and around him, along with the monotone drone of incomprehensible narration from the TV, lulls him to sleep. 

***

Tony regrets ever thanking Nat for giving him a submissive. And he was absolutely right, they are way too much work to justify having around. Especially Steve, who seems to just… have a propensity to get into trouble. 

Still, though. If this hadn’t happened, he probably wouldn’t have fired Thorne. Now that he thinks about it, there was probably a reason that no subs worked in PR, and whenever they  _ did _ end up there, they always requested a transfer.

Even that Parker kid, who’d taken him up on the offer of working for SI, had asked to be moved to the social media department within two days.

Okay, maybe he doesn’t regret thanking Nat. Maybe he’s just angry that he’s been blind to this bullshit all along.

He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair absentmindedly. His sub’s long since fallen asleep, all signs of arousal gone. He’s been harsher tonight than he’s been with a submissive in years, and he hopes that it doesn’t reset all of the progress he’d made with Steve this past week. Though, since Steve had been ready to jump his bones right after his punishment, Tony thinks he can safely say that there’s no major crisis to be had. At least on the interpersonal front. 

On the business side of things, though…

He pulls up a holographic projection of his inbox. Fifteen emails from HR alone, and three from Pepper, personally. Christ. If Thorne decides to sue, though, they’re winning for sure. Self-defense laws haven’t been extended to contracted submissives; subs under contracts belong to their Doms, so they’re  _ technically _ not ‘selves,’ they’re extensions of their Dominants. But that just means that he could argue that Thorne infringed on his personal property, and Steve was just… standing Tony’s ground. 

He starts with the HR emails, which are, thankfully, mostly ones that he was CC’d in for no reason other than to give him anxiety, apparently. He only responds to the one where he needs to clarify Thorne’s reason for being dismissed and the one about severance pay. 

Pepper, though, had apparently been caught up to speed on today and decided that yes, Steve did need a chaperone, and here are two lovely candidates who are very qualified. He replies back by telling her that he’s already got someone in mind, but thank you so much for the suggestions and for her unwavering support. 

Then, he sends a quick text to Natasha, because he hasn’t actually asked her if she’d be willing to chaperone Steve at the gala yet and that’s kind of crucial to his whole plan. Sighing, he turns to Steve again, who looks  _ obscenely _ cozy in Tony’s lap, radiating warmth and smiling in his sleep. It’s the kind of picture that makes Tony think insane thoughts, like  _ I’ll buy you a private island _ and  _ contract with me long-term _ . 

That’s when the panic sets in. What is he  _ thinking? _ He just gave Steve a punishment, and now he has the audacity to even think about asking for a long-term contract? Jesus, how is he any better than Thorne? 

To make matters worse, Steve must have some kind of… submissive sixth sense, because he picks the exact moment that Tony’s blood runs cold and his heart starts racing to start waking up. 

“T’ny?” He slurs, half-awake and concerned. 

“What is it, honey?” He’s trying to project Confident, In-Control Dom, but even to his own ears, he sounds agitated and short. 

“Wha’swrong?” 

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.” 

“‘Kay. Love you.” And those three words were the absolute worst thing Steve could have said.  _ Love? _ How can Steve even think of loving him when he’s spent the entire night punishing him? And punishing him for what, defending himself? It’s Stockholm Syndrome, clearly. 

Logically, he knows he’s dropping, and the drop is the reason he’s feeling like this. Steve’s safe with him, trusts him. Loves him, apparently. It was an intense night, even if Steve didn’t really go under and they, ostensibly, just watched a fascinating documentary. But the thought keeps nagging at him, won’t leave him alone, sets his heart racing every time he consciously thinks about it.

He wants to head into the workshop for the night. Stay there and be productive until his eyes physically can’t stay open. But then he’d have to leave Steve alone, and  _ again _ , even if Steve didn’t go under, he can’t leave the other man alone after a punishment. It’s bad form, and would make him an even worse Dom. 

So going against the wishes of every fiber in his body, he lies down, counts out several deep breaths, and forces himself to go to bed. 

***

They never talk about that night. Not for an entire week. 

It’s not that Tony doesn’t  _ want _ to talk, he absolutely wants to sit down and tell Steve, “hey, I don’t think I can do this anymore, I’m getting too attached and that’s a recipe for disaster,” but as the gala draws closer and closer, he gets busier. 

Long nights at the office turn into overnight and weekend stays, and when he comes home, he’s too exhausted to do much of anything. He spends what little spare time he has conked out in bed or on the workshop couch, with Steve resigning himself to acting as a 6-ft-2 teddy bear for him. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately,” he says, two days before the gala, during a rare night in bed. They’ve got trashy reality TV playing, Steve’s favorite. 

Because Steve is the most perfect sub in the entire world, he replies, “It’s okay. You told me in the beginning that you didn’t have a lot of time for a sub. Plus, I really like this, you know. It’s relaxing.”

“Still, I promise that it’s just until this gala’s over. I don’t… I don’t want you to get  _ bored _ of me, or this, or--”

“Tony, I told you, I love you, I’m not gonna get bored.” And there’s those words again.  _ Love _ . His heart starts racing again, his chest pulls in tighter and his throat closes up. Steve keeps talking. 

“In fact, I was wondering how to bring up a long-term contract.” Nope, he’s not drunk enough to have this conversation. He pushes Steve away from him and gets up from the bed, repulsed by the close contact and the undisguised adoration in his sub’s voice. 

“How can you even say that? I just spent an entire evening punishing you!”

“Yeah, because I  _ punched someone-- _ ”

“You were defending yourself--”

“But I should have thought--”

“For fuck’s sake, Steve, you don’t have to do this--”

“I want to!” He tries to interrupt Steve again, to tell him why he’s wrong, but Steve keeps going. 

“No, shut up, you listen to  _ me _ for once. I love you, and I want a long-term contract, on my own terms, not on SADA’s. You promised me you’d remember that I have agency, and this is me exercising that agency. Now do you want me, or not?” Steve glares at him, daring him to say something. 

And what the fuck can he say to that? How is he supposed to deal with Steve loving him on top of everything else? His own feelings, how much work he has to do, the looming suspicion that his entire company is filled to the brim with power-hungry abusers, in between  _ all _ of that, he’s supposed to process that Steve loves him? 

“I’m a busy man, you know. I won’t always have a lot of time for you.” 

Steve snorts. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

“And there are rules. You have to be on your best behavior in public.” 

“I’m working on it.” That nearly startles a laugh out of him. Steve’s been ‘working on’ his behavior the same way Tony’s been ‘working on’ finding a suitable bartender for the gala: ignoring it and hoping that it sorts itself out. 

“And I  _ need _ you to tell me if I hurt you, if I do something you don’t like, if you feel unsafe in  _ any way _ -”

“I will, I will! If I agree to all your conditions, will you just say yes and let me keep your collar?” Steve’s eyes are eager and playful, but Tony feels run ragged. He sighs. He’s been doing a lot of sighing lately. 

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I also want a long-term contract.”

“Is that all you have to say to me?” 

Steve’s teasing him again. Tony knows what he wants him to say. Hell, he’s been  _ thinking about it _ since that first day when Steve went down for him. Which is why it’s a complete shock that he can’t say it. He can’t tell his sub, who he just agreed to contract long-term with, the single person he’s supposed to be able to devote himself to unconditionally, that he loves him. 

The words die in his throat, and his mouth dries up. He swallows, clears his throat, but something stops him. He can’t even get this one, tiny thing right. If there was any doubt that Tony Stark is a failure of a Dominant, this clears it up. 

He watches Steve’s face fall and then scrunch up in an effort to not start crying. Because even now, Steve’s concerned about sparing Tony’s feelings. He’s such a good sub, so much better than Tony deserves, and what has he done as his Dom, except cause him pain?

“Well,” Steve croaks hoarsely, voice thick with sorrow, “I guess you’ll call SADA in a few days? Tell them what we agreed on?”

“I will.” 

“Okay. Goodnight, Tony.” Steve tucks himself underneath the covers and faces the door, back turned towards him. The message is clear. 

“Goodnight, Steve.” The lights go off, and he turns his back towards Steve as well. Bizarrely, the dark, and the knowledge that Steve is asleep, makes it easier for him to face his own feelings. 

If he tells Steve that he loves him,  _ really  _ loves him, what happens then? How long until he inevitably disappoints him, or scares him off? How long until Steve realizes that Tony isn’t the kind of Dom you settle down with, and runs off to find someone who can give him that?

But there’s a traitorous part of his brain that has him running scenarios on the flip side of the coin. What if it works out okay? What if he could be happy?  ~~ What if he and Steve run away to the countryside and live a quiet life together? ~~

It’s that part of his brain that has him stay awake until he hears Steve’s breathing even out, before he trails his fingers down Steve’s back and kisses his cheek softly, whispering “I love you, too,” to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( 
> 
> I swear I didn't mean to make this chapter this sad. Also this is probably a bad time to announce that this fic is on hiatus until I finish exams on December 18th.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on tumblr as [@theotherwasdeath](https://theotherwasdeath.tumblr.com)! Come say hi :D
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


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